


Twenty Times Hopeless

by goodgirlwhoshopeful



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1990s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexuality, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Past Child Abuse, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Self-Acceptance, Sexual Content, Social Anxiety, Virginity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-04-29 20:12:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 95,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5141027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodgirlwhoshopeful/pseuds/goodgirlwhoshopeful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Demelza had dreamed of this day.<br/>The day she would turn two decades old - no longer be a teenager, therefore no longer a child... An independent woman, with all the add-ons and intrigues that such a role entailed. </p><p>That is, until it actually arrived.<br/>But the day that brought the sad thoughts of a twentieth year without intimacy... also brought her Ross. </p><p> </p><p>(1990s AU - Demelza is a student at university, struggling to separate herself from the 'weird', hardworking girl of her schooldays... A story exploring Demelza's voyage into womanhood with all the complications of being a millennial virgin.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Don't ask me what this is because I'm not sure I know... Other than its inspired by my life at university thus far...but set before digital tech, because, life was more authentic but also in such a period of transition... I feel like, of all 'modern' periods, it would suit the two well...

Demelza had dreamed of this day. 

The day she would turn two decades old - no longer be a teenager, therefore no longer a child... An independent woman, with all the add-ons and intrigues that such a role entailed. 

That is, until it actually arrived.

Mostly because none of the above had come to be true.

As a self-disciplined individual, she had pretended for years now that all was well; that being the 'strange', 'weird' girl in school was just what the most respected members of society had to go through because they reached their full potential. She did all her work, reached her best grades (and well minimal effort for the most part) - all despite the fact she was not wealthy like most of her friends. She always strove to be kind, but sure of her own mind. She was strong on feminist issues, but most of her friends at school had been male, so she liked to think she held a view and understanding of both sides in such issues. 

In all, she liked to think of herself as, indeed, a modern woman. 

That is, all except one small detail.

One key factor of being a said modern, empowered woman was the freedom to have casual, unmarried sex...

Demelza, on the other hand, was a virgin. 

It was not by conscious choice, as most instantly assumed when they discovered this fact. Nor was it due to a scarring or bad experience...

No, Demelza Carne had simply never been in a relationship with anyone, so had never met anyone whom she considered to be worthy of such intimacy. 

And while she was perfectly confident in this fact, this  _choice,_ she also knew that deep down, quite frankly, she had grown to fucking  _tired_  of it.

As unfair and awful as it may be, in the late 20th Century, a person's sexual label followed them through the first twenty five years of their life almost as though it were written on their faces - it was a key measure of self worth, and really the only one that 'mattered' to her generation. It was as though she was sporting a giant, scarlet 'V' on her forehead at all social gatherings - and even, in sixth form,  _at school._ Because  _everyone_ seemed to know... even though she had never said.  
Therefore, she felt like an alien, and unsuited to all those she came across, despite the fact she had not even opened her mouth to speak to them. Most, it seemed, guessed of her inexperience and cluelessness without her having to say much at all. (' _You're too nice, Demelza!'_ her housemate had said one night, while under the influence). Others, well, they dug and dug for juicy stories, mostly because they itched to tell her their own sexual conquests, and, being not the type to lie, Demelza found that the words slipped from her mouth... _'Well... I've never had a boyfriend before,'_ she'd say. To their credit, while they did act disbelieving and often compliment how that could not be possible, they'd soon lose interest... Either that, or become almost predatory with trying to convert her, which, if it were really about 'losing her virginity', would have been just fine.

But that was just it.

Demelza, unless drunk or having stumbled across some of her brothers dirty magazines, did not crave  _sex..._ but intimacy, both giving and receiving. That was all... and yet such simply human emotions seemed so hard to find.

In her entire first year of university, 1993 through 1994, getting drunk had involved exactly two kissing episodes - both of which were far too unromantic and victims of 'washing-machine' syndrome. All other drunken nights had been completely celibate, (unless, of course, relieving _herself_ counted), and therefore consisted mostly of her having the most brilliant fun with her friends, her sweet, sweet flatmates Verity, Andrew and Jim... That is, until room began to spin and they would all disappear off into dark corners with handsome strangers, and she would be left sat in a crowded room, surrounded by no faces that caught her eye – and none whose _she_ caught – and so she would make art of pretending not to be sad as she made her way to bed early and alone.

That being said, having such a self-disciplined personality as she did, Demelza never told anyone of her distain for her sexual label, nor how she dreamt of faceless men who held her at night and were interested in her songs, or simply wanted to spend time with her...

Instead, she spent her later teen years, and her first year at university, in a quiet state of observation - taking note of all the mistakes her sexual-active friends made, so when her time  _did_ arrival–– _if_ it ever did––she would never make them. 

However, as she stared at the clock in her watch today, staring down the large hand as it made it's like tick toward twelve, she really did question, once again, whether that day would indeed ever arrive. 

 _I bet there aren't any other twenty year old virgins at this party,_ she muttered to herself, in a manner of sadness that you could only see if you had been looking into her face in the darkened room just at the right moment... not, of course, that anyone was.  _Happy Birthday to me._

"Happy Birthday, Dem!" Verity called as midnight hit, her bronzed arm pulling Demelza into a choak-hold, almost spilling both their drinks. 

Demelza had to activity restrain herself from gulping down the entirety of her newly refilled g&t. "Thanks, Ver." She attempted to sound excited about the prospect of her birthday, but she wasn't sure, even in such a loud, dim environment that she was a particularly good actress. 

"I can't believe we're both twenty now! How the fuck did that happen?!" Verity Poldark, bless her heart, was so very posh that she could not hold one ounce of drink, Demelza had realised this the day they met a year or so before. She was utterly _bonkers,_ which was why they got along, but  _boy_ did they come from different worlds... 

The house party they were currently frequenting was just beginning to heat up, despite the fact midnight had struck. Verity had their flatmate Andrew in toe – they were a thing, though they didn't realised that everyone had guessed as much already – and Demelza had to look away. Her friend's happiness, while making her totally and one hundred percent glad for them, pulled at the cords in her chest that ached to find a connection too. 

So, she found she danced around the house alone – hidden in plain sight in a heavily crowded and intoxicated room - so as not to have their romance rum salt into her wounds. That is, until Verity had found her again. 

"Dem! Dem!" She called to her over the music, breaking her redheaded friend from her reverie, giggling at her intoxicated daydreaming. "What are you thinking about?!"

"Nothin'!" she called back, plastering on a smile twice as wide as anything that she could naturally conjure in her current mood. "When did you say your friends were getting here?"

"They telephoned at five and said they'd be finding the party at... Around now, actually! Let's go wait for them outside!"

Shaking her head, Demelza allowed herself to be dragged through the house toward the front door, where all the smokers found their solace. She herself had never been much of one – far too expensive a habit. She stumbled a little over her own feet as she pushed past crammed bodies. As they reached the cold, crisp night air, she breathed a sigh of relief, leaning against the stone wall. 

"They 'ere?" (Her Cornish vernacular made an appearance in a much more pronounced way when she consumed alcohol.) Verity was ever-excitable, and barely heard her. 

"Francis! Ross! Over here!" Her, somewhat shrill squeal travelled to where she waved into the shadows, and, through alcohol's haze, Demelza could just make out figures making their way from a Mercedes on the pavement. She rolled her eyes to herself then, finding it all rather funny. 

 _"More poshos,"_ she murmured to herself, leaning her head back against the wall and closing her eyes.

Somewhere, she heard the likes of embraces and familiar, banters conversation - all the voices were not like hers, either. They were London educated, like Verity - only  _really_ from the South West by association. 

"Boys - this is Demelza. She––Dem!" Pulling at her arm insistently, Demelza reluctantly recalled her manners. "She's my flatmate."

Demelza found, since her experiences with men in the under twenty-five age group at houseparties seemed to include predatory or neglectful behaviour, that eye contact with men was difficult for her to maintain. Either way, alcohol made her brave. Raising her eyes, she fixed her best smile as Verity held out her hand to... 

"Demelza, this is my brother, Francis – wanker that he is." They exchange a thump. She went to laugh, but suddenly found there to be no air in her lungs, "and this is Ross, our cousin – the even bigger wanker."

Suddenly Demelza knew what it felt like to desire someone at first sight. Never had she known it, nor understood why the concept existed... but there was something about the ebony curls and dark, mischievous eyes of  _Ross_ that had her heart in her mouth. 

"Nice to meet you," she managed evenly, (god only knows how). "Here was me thinking' the biggest wanker we knew was Andrew!"

Verity burst into cackles, and beside her Andrew held a hand to his chest in faux injury. "Ouch, bitch!"

"Oh, fuck off!" she giggled in gest, trying to ignore the itch that seemed to be spreading across her skin. She daren't look up, but she was  _sure_  that if she raised her eyes now... _Was he looking at her?_

"Right–– _Drinks!"_

Just like that, the five of them were off into the crowded house in search of alcohol. Suddenly desperate to moisten her dry throat, Demelza was the first to plug down a whole cup of rum and Coke without a flinch, forgetting she had witnesses. 

Beside her, a voice whistled. 

Just like that, goosebumps rose on her arms. 

"Demelza, is it?" 

She had to hold in an involuntary gasp. _Even his voice is attractive!_

"Yeah–– _Ross, right?_ " She felt her chest tighten as she caught his eye - and held it. Secretly, she loved way his name, so sinful, felt rolling off her tongue. 

She gave him a side glance that she hoped –  _hoped –_ told him all she was thinking, as she took in his striking features; his high, sharp cheekbones and dark lashes, the tousled curls around his eyes... She never knew a _actual_ man in the real-world could be so beautiful.

"So... What are you about, _Demelza?"_

"Hating parties," she said, with candid honesty she hadn't intended. At her comment, however, he laughed - as in, a head-thrown-back kind of laugh. It was a deep laugh - it showed his age. He can't have been their age, surely. She glanced at his shoulders, attempting not to stare at their broad, muscular shape.

"We're of a like mind, then," was all he said, but a smirk remain tugging his lip upward and his eyes did not waver. 

"How old are you?" The question fell delicately and quietly from her lips, the kitchen quieter now as most had vacated to dance. 

"Twenty-two," he said, with an almost grimace. "Oldest person here, most likely." 

"At least you're not still a virgin on your twentieth birthday - spending it at some houseparty hosted by a person you don't know and drinking with a guy you just met, who's - _apparently –_ the biggest wanker goin'." The words came not by accident, but because she felt so at ease with him in the short moments they had already shared that it was as though he mind had chosen to divulge them of her own accord. The pessimist within her, however, groaned aloud and was already kissing all hope of a sexual relationship with such a man goodbye. 

"What?" It took him a moment. Suddenly his hand was on hers to convey his surprise. "You're a–– _No!_ You're lying to me."

Demelza swallowed down the shame her mind felt at such a man knowing her secret, trying to ignore how her cheeks were warm. "Unfortunately, I'm not."

It took him a moment, but he lifted his hand from hers, only after giving it a reassuring squeeze, and turned fully to face her. She took in the dark, shadowed planes of his face - a face she wished she had an excuse to stare at for a while. She smiled, saying nothing, but holding his gaze. 

"It's not unfortunate... It's pretty damn admirable, if you ask me." With that, he raised his glass to hers and clinked them. "Happy Birthday, Demelza."

With the gentle nature of those words, she somehow had the courage to smile toothily at him and press a kiss to his cheek, uninvited - even brushing away his errant forehead curl for the first time...

And suddenly, just like that, the day that marked her twentieth year without intimacy... also brought her Ross.


	2. Chapter 2

She had feverish dreams about him after that.

Hazy, heady mental concoctions drawn from the depths of the dark corners of her mind... leaving her feeling strung out and near hungover when she rose in the morning. 

For Demelza, sleep no longer offered the rest it once had.

This... and it was all in spite of the fact she had not seen  _Him_ since.

She had heard not a word... and it had been months. 

"Dem?!" came the voice of Verity from their flat kitchen. "Where's that Rosé?" 

Demelza, attempting to make even work of her cat-eye flicks on her eyelids in the hallway mirror, smirked. "I drank it."

The dark, petite Poldark appeared round the corner, her eyes, unsurprisingly, she she seemed to spend a large proportion of her like surprised, were round as a barn owl. " _All_ of it?"

Demelza held her tongue, attempting to look nonchalant, though her chest began to ache as remanence of her noxious late night blues she had hidden from her friend.

"Well, I need to raise my game, it seems," she joked, pulling a bottle of white from behind the door, pouring herself a measure into a mug. _This_ made Demelza chuckle. 

"Wha' are you doin'?"

Verity flopped herself on the settee unceremoniously, sipping from a mug almost as big as her head. "Saving glasses!" she answered, as though it were obvious. "I don't want to use up all the wineglasses before the boys come."

Demelza frowned, growling in frustration as the line on her eye wobbled as she bulked in surprise. "Boys?"

Her stomach fluttered with hope at the prospect that _He_ may be among them; a dangerous, criminal emotion that made her  _angry_  with herself, for she did not  _want_ it. 

"Ross and Francis are visiting. Don't you remember? They said they were going to come by on their way back from London?"

Upon hearing His name, it seemed to hit Demelza like a strike to the chest. Clearing her throat, she let Verity chatter  _at_ her rather than  _to_ her, as she no longer heard the words.  _Ross. Ross is coming._

"I need a wee," she excused herself, attempting to retain her nonchalance long enough to climb the stairs without faltering in her steps. Suddenly, she was wishing she hadn't decided to pamper herself with putting on her make up leisurely for once, because now all she wanted was to sleep. Sleep, pass out...whichever... anything to get away from reality. (Though, if she were truly honest with herself... she also could not wait to see him...which made her despise herself). 

As she locked the bathroom door behind her, Demelza was aggravated to find her hands were trembling – a tremor that reverberated through her frame with such force she had to take a seat on the toilet. "Oh, Judas," she sighed to herself, dropping her head into her hands as it all came back to her again.

 

_"C'mon, love. Ya' must want it if you came here in that little dress."  
_

_The man before her was not the one she wanted. He was overtly, almost grotesquely buff, arms bulging out of his hideous vest - his blond hair gelled so it looked almost wet. His aftershave was noxious, but as she was waiting for the toilet, she found she was trapped against the wall. This stranger was everything Demelza despised about her age group – vain, lad-ish ravers with no a sense of sophistication is they were hit in the face with it._

_Being as inexperienced with men, and the rules of flirting, as she was, panic rose in her throat as she realised she had not one idea how to get rid of him without being awfully rude and antagonising him. God, she_ _thought in that moment. Why did I leave my friends? Party 101, Demelza, damn it!_

_"Um–– Well, actually, I – "_

_"Demelza!" And just like that, there he was – a tantalising contradiction of a sinful saviour, all black and leather with dark eyes and a crown of ebony curls...  She knew her eyes were wide and begging on his as he approached, though she recognised the look of anger and resolution in his._

_"There you are, love," he cooed with a smile wider than any she had seen from him. She had a near heart attack at the term of endearment as it passed his lips – but as he reached out for her hand and the stranger had no choice to step aside, she was hit with the cold reality that it was all a lie. He was forging a romance between them to give her an escape. Gratitude no doubt fuelled the response she gave, as the feeling of his hand around hers, so warm and strong felt absolute. She had never held a man's hand before... never mind a man as beautiful as Ross Poldark._

_His touch was a drug. She played along probably more overzealously than she should have, but as a woman of twenty – a virgin – starved of physical contact with men, starved of attention or affection, she had no hope of nonchalance. She gripped his hand hard in a gesture designed to say thank you, but found that her other hand come to curl around his wrist of its own accord, thrilled by the strong, healthy pulse she felt beneath her fingers._

_He leant in and pulled her into his side then, dropping a kiss lighter than air to her shoulder, as though he had down it a thousand times, while Dmelza tried desperate not to quake at the knees. Without a kiss, the stranger would no doubt call their bluff; everyone in the room knew there was_  no _way a girl like_ her  _could pull a man like_ that.

_"Is there a problem here?"_

_Perhaps it had been the deathly quiet tone in which he said it, somehow crystal clear even over the noise of the house party, or perhaps it had been the ice in his stare... Either way, the stranger did not stand his ground._

_"Yeah, whatever mate," he grunted, turning to saunter away. "She's just a cockblockin' tease anyway, my mate says."_

_The snigger was as misogynistic as they come, and Demelza felt her jaw hit the floor as he said it. How dare he! And who was this_  mate?  

_Within a second, Ross' hand left hers and reached out to grab the strangers shirt, pulling him back against his chest as he held his shirt in two hands._

_"Care to say that again?" The words were a growl and filled with such dangerous promise, even Demelza had to resist the urge to cower from him. That being said, as the stranger grunted and Ross released him, she felt her heart drumming in her ears, hands and feet... and it had nothing to do with fear._

_"I think I need some air," she murmured, barely daring to look him in the eye._

_Just like that, Ross seemed calm again. They pushed through the crowded corridors to the front porch; he leading the way and keeping her from falling, his hand still around hers._

_Outside was quiet and crisp with cold. Thankfully, alcohol blanketed her like a second skin and she barely shook, instead able to focus on the sight of such a man before her. As she leant against the red brick, they dropped hands._

_"Smoke?" he asked, offering her a incredibly fancy looking cigarette packet - a brand she did not recognise._

_"No, thank you," she replied, though she barely recognised her own voice. It was low, sultry... inviting._

_She had never found smoking a particularly attractive habit, since she had only had one or two at all in her life, and both had been when she was at her most drunk out of our curiosity. That being said, she watched as Ross balanced one between his full lips, lighting it with easy and precision before taking a long, steady drag into his lungs. Gazing at him, she found she could not look away from the long line of his neck, the pulse at his throat, the shadow of stubble on his sharp, angular jaw..._

_While she had never understood it before, smoking suddenly seemed to make sense with him; silently sinful... but undeniably addictive... just like the man himself._

_"Thanks so much for wha' y'did," she ventured, surprised by how relaxed she felt, considering she was openly eyeing him up and practically drooling. No doubt thanks to the alcohol. "Y'know you didn't have to."_

_He lowered his poised cigarette, releasing the smoke as he spoke. (He did so deliberately not in her direction, she noted with a smile). "I know that," he nodded with a small smirk, complimented by the quirk of his strong brows. "I just_  hate  _men like that – who feel as though women owe them something simply because they're male..." He took the words right from her mouth._ _"And besides – I was purely thinking of the poor sod's bollocks actually." She grinned, cackling at the idea._

 _"Y'not wrong. I grew up with six brothers. Y'learn how to fight or ya' don't eat."  He went to inhale again and she found her gaze trained back to his face again... Well... his_ mouth. _She found, all at once, her words were not her own._ _"'An' o' course, bollocks are my expertise."_

 _As soon as she had said it, the look on Ross' face was priceless. She cackled, unhindered, as his face morphed from_ _his-brow surprise to_ that  _smirk again._

 _"I'll believe_ that  _when I see it."_

 _She wasn't sure if he had meant that as an invitation... "Well... if y'insist..." she_ _trailed, giving his trademark simper right back to him as best she could, arching an eyebrow in challenge. Suddenly, all she could feel was the heat of his skin, despite the fact they were not touching, and the graceful poise of that cigarette as he drew it from between his lips..._

_Before he could lower it to his side, she took a hold of his wrist, guiding it to her mouth. As she inhaled the burning smoke, the nicotine mix hitting instantly, Ross' dark eyes taunted her with their mystery. Knowing his lips had touched were hers now inhaled made her skin tingle, as it feel all the more sinful – never mind the way his gaze made her feel naked._

_"What a mighty lucky cigarette." The words were barely a murmur, almost as though we had not intended her to hear them. As she exhaled, she was hoping she look like they did in all those all french movies, but highly doubted it._

_His raised the cigarette, still between his fingers, from her lips back to his. She felt breathless with the intensity of his gaze, so primal and hungry. It should have frightened her... but she found herself suddenly famished too._

_When he inhaled next, she found herself close enough to breathe it in... and then he closed the gap and kissed her._

_She could not say she hadn't been surprised – for she knew by the stirring in his chest at the sight of him that she would have kissed him if he hadn't moved to do so... She just never imagined he would._

_She gasped against his lips as his arms drew her tight against him around the curve of her back. Through her parted lips, his exhaled the heady smoke from his cigarette, the intimacy of it making her feel hot all over. His stubble almost scratched in its roughness, but she welcomed it, as the sourness anchored her to reality. Without restraint of judging eyes, Demelza allowed herself the freedom to let her hands wonder, as they moved to his neck and into_ that hair.  _It was surprisingly smooth and locking in product as she delighted the way it slipping through her fingers._

 _She scratched his scalp with her nails as the kiss turned to a mess of tongues and teeth, and was delighted by the growl it triggered from his throat. He flexed his fingers tight into her behind in warning, though they both shared at grin when they broke for air. "My, my, Miss Demelza."_ He spoke in a _tone that seemed connected to her nervous system, for she shuddered as he murmured against her throat. "No virgin I have ever known kissed like that."_

"Demelza! Are you alright?!"

Verity's voice hit her like a bucket of ice water, her reverie having been so overwhelmingly immersive that she had lost all sense of the fact she had locked herself in the bathroom, mid conversation with Verity.

"Yeah, I... I just d'nt feel tha' good. I'll be out in a moment!" 

Slowly, she rose from the toilet and observed her reflection in the mirror, noting the heavy bags under her eyes from the weeks of disrupted sleep. She pictured him at the front door, in the living room of her flat... so tantalisingly close... but, evidently, not hers to want – and she took a deep breath. 

_You can do this, Demelza. You have been through so much worse. Don't let y'self down now._

* * *

He could barely look at her. 

His talkative eyes trained on everything but her when he arrived... but when she did catch them, the sight were grave. 

"Ross! Where's Francis? What happened?" Verity questioned urgently, and the two women watched as he moved silently to the settee. 

"Er... I..." He looked as though he hadn't slept either. "Your brother has just torn my life apart." Verity began stuttering in confusion, sitting down beside him with her arm around him.

"What?––" Verity began, but Ross stopped her, his face hidden under the curtain of his curls.

"Your _brother_ has been sleeping with Elizabeth."

Leant against the wall opposite them, Demelza felt as though she had been punched.

_Elizabeth? Who's Elizabeth?!_

" _What?! No! Francis?!"_ Demelza knew this must be the worst of news, as Verity face was ashen. "That utter  _twat._ Oh, he may be my brother but I'll  _kill_ him, I swear it!" Verity finally addressed Demelza, know felt completely lost. "Demelza, fetch the whiskey." Her eyes said  _hurry,_ so Demelza set to work fetching the spirits from the cupboard. As Verity vanished from the room for a moment, Demelza was dismayed to realise she was alone with him. 

"Here," she whispered as she stood before him, holding the glass out to him. When she raised his eyes to her, he ignored the glass in her hand and sought her gaze. 

"I'm sorry I didn't ring you," he whispered, leaning forward to take the bottle from her other hand. 

"Who's Elizabeth?" Her voice was sharper than she had intended, but she was too anxious she worry over it. 

"Demelza –" he began, his tone wary but she recognised it at that of a man about to make excuses. In that moment, Verity reappeared. 

She rose her eyes her friend, who was oblivious to the tension in the room. "Verity?" Her tone was a challenge to Ross. "Who's Elizabeth?"

Verity didn't seem to catch on to her tone. "Didn't Ross tell you?" As far as Verity knew, of course, they had nothing be conversations between them the night they met. 

"She was my girlfriend through school." Ross piped, his voice like gravel. "When I went away to university, I was still _so_ in love with her, and she knew it. We agreed that, while the affection was there, we were no longer...together, since distance would not suit Poldark temperament. After I graduated recently, I began seeing her again, and she told me of how she wished we'd never parted..." He raised his eyes to hers and they shined with apology. "But something was different... I knew that." Demelza swallowed and had to look away. "Francis went travelling for a year instead of going to university straight off as I did... I didn't realise it until today...but, as it turns out, he and Elizabeth crossed paths in Thailand... and..."  

He did not need to say anymore.

Demelza felt his dismay in her bones, as she could but imagine how such betrayal could shred any feeling of security and self worth a person may have. 

That being said, she was not stupid. She knew that _that_ meant when he had kissed her – in fact,  _kissed_ was an incredibly inadequate word for what they shared – while still with Elizabeth... She shouldn't have been surprised, for that was her generation; forever holding one last card by their side in case the hand they held in view proved not lucrative enough. 

"Oh, Ross," she sighed aloud in both sympathy and dismay. At her tone, Ross' eyes trained on her face, clearly surprised to hear her anger gone. "I'm tha' sorry. That's awful." Slowly, she went to perch on the arm of the settee beside him, watching him swig aggressively at the bottle of whiskey. 

"Where is he now?" Verity questioned cautiously, as though talking to a wild animal. 

"Who knows. Back home at Trenwith, or perhaps abroad again, fucking someone else's girlfriend..." he muttered bitterly, slugging the liquor back.

"––God, I really _will_ kill him," Verity grumbled, marching from the room towards the house phone. "I'm ringing him now and giving him a piece of my mind." 

They both let her go and sat quietly as her murmured shouts could be heard from the other room. The living room was suddenly a serene bubble with the sounds of Ross' study breathing of occasional chugs, though Demelza found herself on edge. All the words left unsaid between them seemed to be echoing in her ears, nudging her to speak, but, being her cautious self, she found she had no words. The tension in the room was palpable and red cresent-moons rose on the back of her hand as she dug her nails into her own skin. 

"Are you angry with me?" 

Demelza considered his question...  _Was she?_

"Not like I probably should be," she sighed, sliding down onto the settee cushions beside him, taking the whiskey bottle from him for herself. "What right do I have to feel any entitlement to someone like you?" She looked down at her hands and scoffed to herself at the thought. "I mean, _look at me_."

The hot body beside her suddenly turned and his face was an inch away; fury now replaced with frustration. "You are  _beautiful,_ Demelza."

Confused, she almost laughed at him. "Me? _Ha!_ ––"

 _"––Don't!"_ he whispered feverishly, suddenly passionate in his speech. "Don't talk about yourself that way." She must have looked shell-shocked and doubtful, because he smiled at her, as though she'd just told a joke. "At least, please don't do so in front of me."  

Shocked at his tenacity, she lowered her eyes apologetically. "Alright... Sorry." Looking up through her lashes, she caught his smiling eyes, still bloodshot with the trace of dismay, and she found she couldn't help but smile too. 

Suddenly, her train of thought faltered it. "Is... _she_ beautiful?" She's not sure why she asked. Perhaps because she really did want to know... Perhaps because a tiny part of her hoped he'd pull some line; _'She is, but not like you'._ _Utterly ridiculous,_  she sneered at herself. 

 _"Undeniably._ She was born to be admired." 

His tone was so lovesick is made her feel ill. 

"I pray every night that someday I find someone who will talk 'bout me to a stranger the way you talk 'bout her." 

Her eyes are sad when he meets them, and she knew with the way his own despair faltered that he could suddenly see her loneliness for the first time. In that one moment, he saw someone more hopeless than himself; _so_ hopeless, in fact, that she had reached the most dangerous stage of all:  _resignation._

In that moment, Verity made her noisy entrance back into the room, her hair frizzy as though she had been through a great ordeal, and the two laughed at her. 

"Right," she huffed, as though exhausted. "That's that done." Stepping into line in front of them, she snatched the whiskey and took a burning swig, with a barely contained grimace following promptly. "Time to get drunk."

* * *

As it transpired, the three barely made it out of the flat. 

Well, Verity did – down one flight of stairs,  _very_ precariously, to be exact, before her falling left all three of them cackling in the stairwell.

Not long afterward, at shortly after midnight, Verity announced she was going to bed. Even when so intoxicated, Demelza dismayed and begged her in whispers to remain, for she truly wasn't sure she could trust herself alone with Ross.  

Her face felt numb as alcohol took its full effect, causing he trip to the toilet to sway as though she were on a ship. When she returned to the living room, she found Ross Poldark where she had left him, sat on the floor against the wall, looking desolate like a lost boy despite the fact he tried to smile. In that moment, she knew what he needed, and she put her own discomfort to one side.

"C'mon, posh boy," she teased, reaching to pull on his hand. He regarded her quizzically but rose to follow her without complaint. 

When he first saw she was leading her into her bedroom, he faltered. "Demelza – I don't – "

Despite her nerves that were ever-present around him, she smiled at him. "S'not wha' you think, silly. Judas! That really _is_ all you men think about, isn't it?"

Her side glance told him she was teasing him, and he followed her as she climbed through her large window and onto the roof of the porch on the other side. The expanse of the sky opened up to Ross' mumbled mind and it was he could do to stare openly and wide-eyed at the majesty of the universe. 

Demenza perched in her usual spot with her legs over the edge and her seat firmly on the flat roof, poising her acoustic guitar over her thigh. Ross seemed further gone than she was, as he lay down next to her and didn't speak a while, other than to swear at the beauty of the stars. She shyly strummed on the strings of her guitar to distract herself from the fact he was so close – swearing as her alcohol-induced lack of agility in her fingers. If she'd been sober, she'd have been embarrassed to play so clumsily in front of him, but somehow she didn't think he would notice. 

"You're very good," he murmured into the quiet after a long time. She rose her head, having been so enraptured in trying to play this particular composition sober that she had almost forgotten his presence. She blushed at his compliment, despite her lower inhibitions. 

"Oh, I'm really not... but thank you, Ross." She made a point of saying his name – she hadn't said it often enough, and suddenly she craved it on her tongue... and how sinful it felt. 

He shakes his head at her, because she denied yet another compliment. 

 _"What?"_ she quipped, shuffling over to get a closer look at him – nudging him for good measure. 

 _"Women!"_ He replied forcefully with a bemused laugh, as though it were the most obvious answer in the word. "None are created equal..."

"Hey! Careful what you say! I  _am_ one, remember?!" 

Again, she managed to throw herself to the metaphorical wolves, as when she watched his eyes suddenly gleam with mischief – all his sadness a mere memory. _"I remember,"_ he murmured, his tone fun of sinful promise that Demelza held her breath and had to break his gaze. 

"Careful," she chastised playfully, hoping to defuse the tension. "Anyone migh' think you were out to steal my _virtue._ "

He puffed out his chest in test of all the pomp and ceremony of a gentleman. "I wouldn't dreamof it."

She hummed in disbelief and scepticism with a raise eyebrow, and was thrilled when it made him laugh. 

"None are equal... Some... _like Elizabeth_...are clearly never satisfied... and some thumb their nose at adversity and roll up their sleeves... like you."

Demelza's smile was bittersweet, because as much as the compliment was heartfelt and raw, it came from a place of longing; longing for a person who wasn't her. 

"Y'd'not deserve wha' she did to you, Ross," she whispered, deciding to be frank. "I mean... 'ur the most thoughtful man I've ever met... Why would someone choose to do such a thing when they already had someone like you? It do'n't make sense t'me."

He gazed at her in that moment as though a halo rose from her head. The look told her just what Ross Poldark thought of himself. 

His eyes were so intense she struggled not to stare  _at them,_ no matter where they were looking. The fact they were on her in their darkest made it all the more like an addict resisting an opiate. Demelza had never  _craved_ a person before Ross and suddenly that was pure, plain and simple all she was feeling, as it coursed through her veins and jarred her nerves. 

 _Y'want him. You know you want him._ The dark and deprived corners of her mind taunted her with the possibilities...

"Ross." His name was a prayer on her lips as she threw herself into a kiss that no longer spoke of surprise or submission as it had the first time. This kiss was demanding, as, instead of cradling his  _beautiful God damn face,_  both her handsgripped the back of his neck and skull, desperately attempting to coax him into submission.  _Please,_ she wanted to say.  _Please see me._ Their breathing came hard and fast as their bodies become feverish with it all, hands grabbing, groping, exploring over soft curves and hard lines, never remaining for more than a second.

Sat upright and face to face, the two were equals, and it was for _that_ Demelza felt most liberated. No longer did she feel intimidated by men, or by the wanton-ness they was apparently so prevalent in their thinking. (They thought about this every...what...eight seconds? Wasn't that how the statistic goes?).

This had been a dark, unchartered land Demelza had come to accept she would never find – meant only for those lucky enough to either not care whether they wallowed in it without happiness with as many partners as possible... or for the very, _very_ fortunate few who found it because they met the right person.

Suddenly, Demelza not found herself there... but was sure Ross found her too.

His strong hands were in her hair –  _who knew men in fact kissed like that?! –_ as they tore away her hair elastic long ago. The feel of such a wanton, passionate gesture seemed to antagonise her further, and then when he lowered his lips to curve of her neck, she herself felt wanton too. 

So, she did what she'd dreamt of all those nights, waiting for him, and bit down hard on his bottom lip before suckling it between he owe to soothe the sting. 

The groan he released was restrained – so much so  _she_ barely heard it, but she felt his satisfaction in his eagerness, as his hold tightened on her more in retaliation. Suddenly, he pulled back enough to smile down at her – all uneven pearly grin, slightly crooked teeth, full black lashes and brows – and shook his head, his eyes shining with both disbelief and... pride. "She  _bites."_ The chuckle he left slip was dark and deep, like a villain from an old film. "I should have known."

"Aye – Y'bet y'should – " He bit it back, pulling the lip out and suckling it for a moment. She knew it would hurt tomorrow, but that was  _just_ as she hoped it would. " –  _God, Ross,"_ she moaned throatily in a shaky whisper as she drew him back for another bruising kiss, then another, and another; thrilled at the idea of how quiet this entire exchange had in fact been...

In her head, there was nothing but  _screaming_ and the thudding of her heartbeat. She just couldn't get enough of him, of this new sensation, this  _revelation._ She had no idea life could be this colourful... She had been blind...but now she could  _see._

He squeezed the curve of her waist in response, before he bared his teeth against her collarbone and nipped where he had just kissed. This time, she was  _certain_ it had been hot-wired to the nerves between her legs, because she jumped in her seat, digging her nails deep into his shoulder and ribs through his shirt in reflex. She felt him grin and chuckle against her skin, smoothing the bite with his tongue. He whispered, and did it again. She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing her knickers were now more than a little damn, as she felt yet another jolt like electricity from deep within.

"We shouldn't be...doing this..." she whispered pathetically, her hands smoothing over the soft cotton of his dress shirt, up and down and over again, never staying still, marvelling over the broad strength of his shoulders yet the narrow hourglass of his firm waist... 

"No..." he whispered in agreement, smoothing back her hair as tiny curls stuck between their lips in the kiss. "No, we should not."

As he agreed, it was as though the fire in her chest was dampened. Her sensible, celibate, bashful traits began to return to her like the moon rising, and she frowned, dropping all but one hand from him.

"We should not." He swallowed hard, trying to catch his breath. "You're right, as you always seem to be, Demelza... I'm sorry."

She knew the words were coming before they did.

"I'm not over Elizabeth... This is not fair to you." 

Swallowing, she tried to smile, but it wobbled. Her chin trembled. "Y'jus' drunk and lonely, Ross. God knows 'tis not a crime!" As she said the words aloud, she felt their weight crack her once-distant heart a little, and she knew that the strain of unshed tears could be heard. With a churning stomach, she considered perhaps that she should learn to take her own advise... For that was Demelza every night at university, was it not?  _That_ was why she hated parties. She was just lonely. Her eyes were earnest as she told him this truth; a truth she never told another soul. "God knows I'd be locked up f'r life it it were."

As he rose his eyes to hers, the melancholy in them was suddenly almost too much for him to comprehend as his strong bore furrowed and he cleared his throat. He watched her as she smoothed down her appearance and went to collect her guitar to climb inside, and he wanted to weep no longer for himself, but for _her._

_For the sweet, sweet lone rosebud of a girl... with hair and resolve like fire._

"You don't deserve it," he said after her, watching as she paused at the windowpane. Sadly, he looked up at the sky and away from her, as suddenly he couldn't bare to see her walk away from him. "...I'm sorry I can't be the man you need me to be."

As Demelza slipped from the windowsill and straight under her duvet, she silently let the tears fall regardless, practically seeing all her raised hopes falling to the ground around her as she struggled to breath. Letting her reply become a confession only her pillow could hear, she only let herself sob once before her infamous self-restraint found its barings. "No one ever is."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Call it a stroke of inspiration or procrastination form my dissertation proposal or what.... but suddenly this just seemed to begin to formulate itself. 
> 
> As I say in the overall summary, based on inspirations form my university life thus far, so don't go trying to tell me it's 'silly' or 'unrealistic' for Demelza to be this way..... because, trust me, it isn't. 
> 
> Also – homophobic is never welcome, so please don't bother. 
> 
> ANYWAY - to all those who kudos'd and commented and seemed to like this..... hopefully this will please you while I write what's next.......... Please comment and let me know what you think of this – no doubt considered to be – 'controversial' Demelza? ;) 
> 
> LOVE xxxxxxxx

It took a long time for Demelza to feel alright again after Ross went home. 

 _"I'm not over Elizabeth..."_ His words followed her around with the grey and weight of a heavy, dark cloud. _"This is not fair to you."_

It wasn't that she blamed him; it wasn't his fault he was still incapacitated by Elizabeth, it wasn't his fault he was in love. Elizabeth had wronged him awfully in a way he would never deserve... but it did make his love for her all the more hard to stomach. 

 _If only he could get over her,_ she'd yearn as she lay in bed alone, accompanied only by the memories of the two evenings they spent together.  _If only he could love me like he loves her... If only._

In the day, she banished thoughts of Ross and their feverish chemistry and focused instead on her English degree – determined to one day reach her life goal of becoming an author and put all else behind her. She was partial to wallowing in her sorrows, but something within her had shifted since she met Ross. It was as though, suddenly, she had grown up. Though it wasn't meeting him, or even _kissing_ him that had taught her lessons...but the pain of losing him that had done it. No longer did she feel as though she had the _time_  or the emotional capacity to wallow...because to do so over a man like Ross, when she could not have him, would surely _kill_ her.

Verity seemed to gauge something had changed in her friend, as she began to ask why it was she was at the library so much more, or why it was she seemed so uncharacteristically quiet. _Exams,_ Demelza had excused. She felt guilty for lying, but she couldn't tell Verity, because confessing it aloud would make it real.  _I think I'm falling endlessly in love with your cousin._ The words bounced around her chest and almost overflowed with every moment that he and Verity were alone, particularly when she brought him up in passing conversation.  _I'm endlessly in love with your cousin, whose endlessly in love with your childhood friend._

The words never did surface, thanks to her trademark restraint and resolve. 

She spent hour after hour in the library, buried amongst her first love: literature. She could no longer stand romance novels; they reminded her too much of Ross. Instead, she focused on tails of feminine strength and independence... as was her usual perogative.   

Verity, however, often had there ideas.

"When was  _your_  first kiss, Dem?" she asked good-naturedly as she sat with Andrew opposite Demelza and her pile of books one night, drinking tea and discussing anything and everything. 

Demelza didn't look up from her book, using the pages as a useful disguise from having to look them in the eye. "Depends what you mean by kiss, I guess," she murmured lowly, her voice in monotone.

"Yes, _okay_ , well," Verity conceded in her usual chirping tone. "Your first  _real_  kiss, then?" Out the corner of her eye, Demelza saw Verity beam at Andrew. "Andrew was mine, obviously – sad as that is."

"I don't that that's sad, Ver!" Demelza denied instantly, lifting her eyes instantly at her friends self deprecating tone. "Everyone does things at their own pace, right?"

"Right," Andrew agreed with his usual assured English politeness. His eyes were always tight with worry of offended others. "She's right, Verity."

"So what about  _you_ , Dem? You never tell me things. You know everything about me!" 

Demelza's greatest friend was incredibly kind, and sweet, but she was good-awful  _nosy –_ not that Demelza usually minded. She herself was the curious type. More did she mind that she wasn't sure how her friend would take the truth: a truth she'd never told  _anyone..._

"Well, it's not what you'd expect – "

 _"Oh?"_ Verity's eyes were alight with the glitter that only gossip could bring... and in spite of everything, Demelza couldn't help but grin at the sight of it. 

Flashes of the memory came back. Demelza's first  _real_ kiss had been one icy,  _icy_ Cornish New Years Eve some five years ago, when she had snuck away from her father, who would inevitable return home unbearably drunk –  _if_ he came home at all. She'd sat out the back of the pub, behind the decking, perched on her favourite bench that looked over the town, watching other peoples fireworks light up the sky. 

That's when Jinny had found her. She had come to sit on what she said was  _her_ favourite bench too. She was equally Cornish, but soft and delicate... and so very  _pretty._ Demelza had never considered before that moment that she may see beauty beyond the conventional definition in women. She had never considered that she would see women in the way she knew she already saw men... until one day, she did. Jinny told her of her cruel, selfish 'friends' who alienated her, and her father, who had left a year before to never come back. She was sixteen, so "older enough to look after herself now", her mother had said, since she had so many younger siblings to contend with. It wasn't a rough life like Demelza had come to be used to when the liquor came upon her own father... but she considered it perhaps wasn't far off, in a way.

The brunette  then pulled a bottle of the finest wine from under her coat, saying her mother had bought it for herself, only to fall asleep by nine o'clock with the exhaustion of the holiday season. She'd become partial to drinking it alone. 

 _"You shouldn't drink alone,"_ Demelza had said, unhappy at the thought that such a beautiful, charismatic person could be so lonely as to do so.  _"That's for the_ _likes'a'me, not posh folk like you!"_ They'd giggled at that, both happy to acknowledge the class difference between them did not in fact exist at all. 

Demelza could clearly recall that it bad been the first time she had ever met anyone with whom she felt absolutely understood. Looking into the eyes of poor, sad, tipsy Jinny, she saw a version of herself; a person lost and buried beneath the inadequacies and cold temperaments of their parents.

It was also the first time  _ever_ that she felt utterly spellbound by another person's presence.

This connection manifested in the way only a true connection could.

As the wine had flowed, their lips had met, accompanied by giggles and conversation...

"'melza?" Verity prompted, leaving Demelza to blink and come to the realisation that she had yet to answer the question. Looking into the face of her weak, kind friend, she decided on her usual policy in life:  _honesty. Always_ honesty. 

"I was fifteen," she swallowed, unable to look Verity in the eye. This bashfulness was not due to the gender of her confessed first kiss, but simply because such topics were something she found very hard to talk about – unless drunk, of course. She considered that she seemed to suffered with the traits of being almost insufferably  _English._ She found her stiff upper lip suddenly appeared upon such subjects and left her with a cold sweat... It was no wonder she was still a virgin, come to think of it.  "Her name was Jinny," she confessed nonchalantly, looking back at her book – intent on maintaining that her sudden revelation of her bisexual status was nothing to be surprised or shocked at all. After all, it was the 1990's, for God's sake! 

She hadn't been worried that her friends would judge, or be prejudice – no one she had met at university had seemed to care at all if anyone was gay or straight or what – but she had worried about simply voicing it. Especially since they all knew of her... _status_ of sexual abstinence. She wouldn't be surprised if now they all came to the 'obvious' hypothesis that she was gay... or asexual.

The memory of Ross' fingers biting hard into the flesh of behind came back to her, along with that of the burn of his skin's temperature and the scratch of his jaw... No, she was not a lesbian. 

At the mere thought of him leaking through her built up walls, the assault on her senses was  _overwhelming_ and intoxicating – so much so she barely suppressed a shudder of desire, even sitting but a foot away from his  _cousin_. 

_No. Definitely not asexual, either._

"Oh!" Verity exclaimed at her revelation, as though it was all entirely obvious all of a sudden. "So... You... _don't_ fancy Ross, then?"

Now it was Demelza's turn to bulk – so violently that her book clattered to the floor beside her. 

Verity,  _of course,_ was grinning like the cat that got the double-whipped, strawberry topped cream. "What?" she cackled, delightedly amused. "You  _really_ thought I didn't know?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unintended, Ross had set a benchmark in her mind which no other man seemed able to reach, seemingly leaving her destined to crave and pine in her dreams forever. 
> 
> Well, that was certainly the case when it came to men, but women? They were soft and rounded where men were solid and angular... In short, flirtatious men always left Demelza feeling as though she was there to be used, whereas women left her feeling as though who she was was enough. 
> 
> "What about you?" Caroline was on her second gin and tonic but seemed completely unaffected by the alcohol. "Do you have a boyfriend? Pretty thing like you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to iorwen for the prompt that ushered this chapter a long... It doesn't quite fulfil the wording of the prompt yet, but it will... in Part 2. 
> 
> Poldark AU prompt, from the 'I Love You' prompt list: 'I Dreamt About You Last Night'.
> 
> Ross will make an appearance again soon, I promise, but the point of this story is to look into how loving a man as intense and experienced as Ross effects a soul as inexperienced as Demelza, because that's something I feel Poldark itself always skimmed over... I want to do Demelza as a modern woman justice.

**'I Dreamt About You Last Night'**   
**Part 1**

* * *

 

Her dreams were beginning to plague her like a virus. 

Each night, phantom images of entwined lovers chasing release would fade in and out of her dreams, leaving her with naught but feelings of mournful loss and unfulfilled desire upon waking. It was becoming utterly exhausting, as she had no choice nor control over the images her mind dwelled upon when she was supposed to be finding rest. Flashes of the dreams would come back to her during the mundane tasks throughout the following day and leave her with bemusement that meant she could do nothing but sit and think a while. 

When would this end? Would it end if she finally gave in finally to having sex with a stranger? Was this her body's way of saying 'Enough waiting. I've had enough'? After all, biologically, she was at her most fertile now. It did make sense that, evolutionarily, her body would push her into finding someone, for hope of offspring and all that.

Issue was, of course, biology did not account for human emotional weakness, for fear or insecurity. It did not factor in that emotional hesitation can overpower any physical desire that may be brewing. At least, not in a mind as self-assured as Demelza Carne, anyway.

That being said, as exams came and went, Demelza would go clubbing and find that the more alcohol she consumed, the louder her physical cravings became. It had always been that way, as she was sure it was for anyone. 

Since meeting Ross Poldark, she was becoming exceedingly aware that men she met consequently were simply inadequate, no longer enough even with all the liquor in the world. They were all too 'handsy', too meek or too rough. Most frightened her with their advances, and turned her off with their clear intentions to sleep with anyone that would say yes. Most whom approached her in bars never even asked her name. And none, without exception, were nearly as devastatingly handsome. Unintended, Ross had set a benchmark in her mind which no other man seemed able to reach, seemingly leaving her destined to crave and pine in her dreams forever. 

Well, that was certainly the case when it came to men, but women? Well, somehow she still found herself able to appreciate them too without hindrance. She appreciated female beauty as an entity almost entirely removed from that of men. They were soft and rounded where men were solid and angular. They were gentle and generous with their kindness and their smiles, where men only seemed to trade smiles for further physical contact. In short, flirtatious men always left Demelza feeling as though she was there to be used, whereas women left her feeling as though who she _was_ was _enough_. 

This was why, when she met Caroline one night, she was more than eager and intrigued for conversation, kisses and dancing, because Caroline did not leave her feeling threatened. Instead, the blonde beauty simply left her in wonder. 

They were in a fancy underground bar – one that Demelza had only afforded to get into thanks to Verity. (She had fought that, but Verity, of course, had won). The bar's cocktails were famous for their complexity and their taste, and Demelza's seen tooth left her a sucker for them. She had been sat at the bar drinking her second Toblerone chocolate cocktail when she had first caught sight of her. She'd been wearing green sequins, deep emerald that covered her torso and tiny wast and ended at her mid thigh. It was a tiny minidress, but it suited her. Her hair was flowing and long, much like Demelza's had once been, prior to university when she'd cut her own into a bob. Now, it had grown to her shoulders but she craved to hack it off again. Having long hair just reminded her of a time she would rather forget, of being the father's emotional and literal punching bag. Her curls were becoming heavy again already, more prone to frizz the longer they got. 

_Yes,_ she thought.  _I must remember to cut it again tomorrow._

The blonde stranger disappeared for a while after all. A fair male approached Demelza at the bar, distracting her from her innocent admiring as she had to turn her attention to denying his clear advances. She could let him buy her that drink, she knew that – her friends would tell her to do so, in fact. But, to Demelza, that seemed somewhat cruel, to allow him to think, even for a moment, that she could possibly entertain the idea of sleeping with him, when he was clearly so desperately eager. So, she kindly smiled, feeling painfully awkward and guilty, and began her trademark denial. 

"I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I'm your type," she'd said. He'd smiled and looked surprised, as they all did. Men always seemed to take this as a challenge, when she had in fact meant it, literally. 

He had kind brown eyes, but they glittered with an arrogance that left her feeling uncomfortable. What was it about alcohol that made men's eyes suddenly so unnerving? "I'm not so sure about that," he replied, predictably confident. He was staring at her, leaving her no choice but to look everywhere but him. This was how all flirtatious experiences with men usually went, with the exception of one dark Poldark.  _Please, leave._ She wanted to say.  _I know what you want, and you won't get it from me._

"I am." She took a long pull of her drink to calm her anxiety.  _Time to play your ace, Demelza._ "I'm a virgin. I'm not going to sleep with you, so please feel free to find someone else for that drink."

There it was. The stranger blinked multiple times, his eyelids fluttering rapidly in surprise. After he'd recovered, she watched the typical determination resettle in his eyes, as it always did when she told young men of her status. They took it as a challenge, and men loved a challenge.

She'd excused herself before he could begin the 'No! Surely not!' tactic she knew so well, hurrying for the sanctity of the bathroom. _Where the fuck was Verity?_ she wondered to herself. She had gone to the bathroom and not yet returned, probably disorientated by the murky, dim lighting of the establishment. As she entered the bathroom, she breathed a sigh of relief because, problematic as it may be to admit out loud, to Demelza, no men meant no anxiety. 

She was complimented on her outfit by multiple women while waiting for a cubicle, leading to many a conversation about the weather and fashion bargains from high street shops. Once she was done relieving herself, she look steps towards a basin, taking in the image of herself that she saw in the mirror framed with classic, art deco-style lightbulbs. She was dressed in black, wearing the outfit that made her feel shapely and held in: dark glittering disco-pants that clung to her legs and a black halter neck top that barely the slightest mid-riff. She wore a gold choker that Verity had bought for her the previous year. Her eyes were framed with slight black flicks on her eyelids. She _knew_ she gave off a steeled persona. She _knew_ the reason that all the men who approached her were so seemingly arrogant and overconfident because her persona frightened all those more gentle souls. She _knew_ this, yet felt she could do little to change it. Yes, she could change her clothes, she could pretend to be smiley and carefree, but ti would be a lie and Demelza did not lie. That, and why should she  _have_ to? 

Memories of Ross' kind eyes came back to her, of his amusement at her anxious nature and his acceptance of her perpetual modesty. 

The way she saw it, if a man like Ross existed and he didn't mind... then there must be others who wouldn't either. 

It was then that a flash of emerald caught her attention. The mystery blonde from the bar floated to the sink at her side, her sequins dazzling Demelza for a moment. Looking down, she noted she was wearing converse trainers, much like Demelza was too, and it made her grin. 

"Not a heels person, either?" 

The question escaped her before she could consider if it was a good idea. The stranger raised her eyes and Demelza was pleasantly surprised to see that they were bright and alert, rather than hazed with drink. "Not at all!" she replied with a giggle. Her vowels were sound with the trademark venaculour of the English private school system. Demelza felt her heart sink a little before she could consider it. Was she eternally destined to feel inferior simply because of how her voice sounded?

"Sometimes, tis the only way, though!" 

As she agreed with an enthusiastic nod, the blonde's long, straight hair flung about her shoulders, sending quaffs of a sweet perfume in Demelza's direction. "Because who can be bothered being in pain when you could have fun dancing instead?" She smiled with lips that were stained with a blood red lipstick, something that Demelza only sometimes had the bravery to wear. Against her blonde hair and her slightly bronze skin, it stood in delightful contrast. No doubt the men all traipsed after her. 

"What's your name?" she asked as they both dried their hands. "I'm Caroline." 

_Caroline._ It suited her. Classic, feminine... yet but somewhat...demanding. "Demelza."

"Dem, there you are!" Verity exclaimed as she bound into the room with her typical grin. Demelza felt a wave of both relief and announce rush through her at the sight of her friend. _Now?_ _You turn up now?_

_"Demelza?_ Wow, that's such a pretty name!" The compliment was light but it made Demelza grin stupidly. It really was true that some people just lifted up all those around them and it was from this first moment that Demelza learnt that Caroline was one of those people. 

They drank together, along with Verity and some of Verity's friends, but Demelza found she could not stop listening to their new friend. She was a breath of fresh air – not at all worried about the consequences of decisions, of smoking, of taking drugs, of having sex. She told story after story of miraculous adventures of her travels, but in a way that did not come across as arrogant bragging. She told more because Demelza kept asking. In her own world, Demelza felt like a slave to her worries, as her anxious personality meant it controlled everything she did, never wanting to offend anyone, always wanting to play by the rules, always worrying about regret. The irony of the, of course, was it was her cautiousness that was beginning to lead to more regret than anything. 

She was twenty years old but felt no older than sixteen when stood in the glow of women like Caroline. 

"What about you?" Caroline was on her second gin and tonic but seemed completely unaffected by the alcohol. "Demelza – do you have a boyfriend? Pretty thing like you?"

The question had come up so often since adulthood that Demelza was usually prepared for it and for secret sorrow that filled her chest and dropped her stomach, but when enquired by a wonder such as Caroline, she felt it hit her all over again. _There we go,_ her niggly worried voice whispered inside her head.  _Now she'll realise how uncool I am._

But, being such an advocate for honesty, there was little Demelza could do but let her secrets fly.

"Um, I've never had one, actually." She gulped the remainder of her vodka orange and attempted to appear nonchalant and unaffected. "Men don't really... like me that way, I don't think."

"What _tosh!"_ came Verity's response instantly, though she had not realised her flatmate had even been able to hear. " _Ross_ does, for one!"

Caroline's eyes lit up with intrigue. Evidently she was just as back as Verity when it came to gossip. " _Oh!_ Who's Ross?"

"My cousin," Verity interjected, excitedly. "He and Dem really got along last time they met, I think."

It was as though his hands were on her again, the moment she said it. Verity was unaware of the extent to which they had got along that night, Demelza was sure. His strong hands had felt as though they might just burn through her clothing... which, for the first time, was a prospect she would not have said no to. 

She flushed at the sight of Caroline and Verity looking so excitedly delighted at the prospect. "Verity, we really didn't..." She knew her face was flushed and hot, giving away the truth. "Besides, as nice as he is, he's not... He's got issues."

Verity then continued to chat away about Elizabeth, filling beautiful Caroline in on all the gory details. At hearing it all again, Demelza had to stare at her the bottom of her glass, finding it hard to breathe. 

Caroline excused herself for a cigarette break and Demelza eagerly offered to accompany her – not wanting to hear anymore about Ross. However, as Caroline lit her cigarette on the outside terrace, she clearly was destined not to be so lucky.

"You really like him, don't you?" Caroline's eyes were soft in their curiosity and her tone was gentle, for which Demelza felt a flush of gratitude. 

"How did you – ?" 

"You looked sad at talk of him loving this Elizabeth girl still... but even more so at the idea of him liking  _you_." Demelza had to swallow hard as a hint of a lump began to form in her throat. "You don't think he likes you enough?"

Was she really so easy to read? "Somethin' like that."

"Well, then he'd an idiot." The insult was kindly meant and left a smile on the face of Demelza, despite the fact it wasn't at all true.

"He's in love..." _As I am._ "He can't be blamed for that." 

"No," Caroline's grin was infectious as they shared the end of the cigarette. "But it's awful for you."

"I jus' wish I could stop thinking' of him – that's all I wish." Caroline's beauty made it easy to be distracted, and she leant in to usher away a stray eyelash from Demelza's cheek, she could do naught else but lean and meet her face with a kiss. Caroline didn't seem at all surprised, since she was such a spontaneous soul, but giggled against her lips. They were soft, was Demelza's first thought, having ha the last pair of lips to meet hers be the solid, rasping ones belonging to Ross.

The kisses were gentle, unlike kisses with nameless men she had under the influence of alcohol in the past. Caroline's hand cupped the side of her face in tenderness so Demelza had so rarely seen and it made her heart ache. Her hands were sure as the other held her at her waist in assurance and respect. "Alright," Caroline giggled, her breath sweet, with the slight scent of gin against Demelza's cheek. "If he does not choose you, he  _must_ be mad." 

As she draw back enough to laugh, men around them where now eyeing them, as though the moment between them was something they had every right to leer at. She swallow her distain, thoroughly disliking being stared at, never mind when kissing someone. 

"Ignore them," Caroline murmured, unfazed. Doing as she said as best she could, Demelza closed her eyes and met the next kiss with eagerness, feeling the familiar temptation of oblivion. Her insides melted as Caroline's tenderness, the attention she gave fed her young Cornish heart, the affection starved infant that it was. It wasn't quite enough to leave it full to bursting, as Ross' affections had been... but for now, it was enough. A soothing balm to ease the ache. 

"Let's dance, yeah?" Caroline pulled her inside and way from the prying eyes, for which she was thankful. From then on, the icy chip on her shoulder thawed and gave was to simply contentment. As the bass came on to sounds she did not know, she allowed the young, kind Caroline to guide her. Demelza's own dancing abilities were simply poor in comparison, but with a soul as effervescent as Caroline, she did not mind. Instead of feeling inadequate, she felt free for a while. 

Gone were ghosts of aggressive fathers or unrequited lovers, and in their place was simply the joy of being a twenty-something; a privilege that had surpassed Demelza altogether until that day. 

So, in gratitude, but also in the same way an addict obeys to an opiate, Demelza stole another feverish kiss from her new acquaintance. She threaded her fingers into the long, soft hair and used it to mentally anchor herself to the moment, to not let her mind destress toward sorrowful memories that lingered, never too far away. " _You're beautiful,"_ Caroline mouthed against her ear, leaving Demelza's heart thumping against her ribs. The music was deafening, but she heard them clear as day. _"I know you don't believe it, but you are."_  

Caroline had her face in two hands, the curve of her lean body lush against Demelza's own. The ease at which she swayed her hips leaving both lust and awe in their wake. Demelza felt her ghost the curve of her cheek, underneath her eye, as she smiled a smile that would make grown men simper and weep. 

She pulled back enough for Demelza to take in her face, illuminated partially by the flashing coloured lights. Her lashes were so long they beggared belief, layered with slight mascara. Her eyes were oval and wide in their honesty, but upon meeting Demelza's own narrowed into a look of smoulder that left her throat dry with what she could only assume with the fires of lust. Her cheeks were littered with a dozen or so minuet freckles, and her lips formed a pronounced, and perfect, quid's bow. Her ears were pierced twice on both sides at the lobe and once on the left at the cartilage. All the jewellery she was was rose gold and shined under the lights, echoing the slight bronze to her skin, no doubt a remainder from a recent holiday. 

She was everything that Demelza felt she was  _not:_ refined, well-spoken, spontaneous, eloquent, brave... and yet Demelza felt a kinship unlike she had ever felt with someone so opposite to her before.

Mostly though, she knew it could not be ignored.

If Ross did not want her, then she would forge new frontiers for herself, for she was a survivor, so _survive_ she must. 


	5. Chapter 5

Demelza and Verity stumbled home at around half past midnight, along with Caroline, as all three were drunk enough already to simply want their beds – once they'd drunkly frequented McDonalds, of course.

Demelza watched her move, with the sway of her hips and her hair, and felt her physical desires rear their ugly head. Once home, Verity offered Caroline their spare room before not-so-subtly excusing herself to sneak into bed with Andrew. The sight made Demelza's heart heavy, as it always did. 

She felt guilty and selfish for feeling that way, when her friends had every right to be in love and happy. It was just a force of habit for her to succumb inwardly to her jealousy, since she had never known romantic love. She would never say so aloud, for it was petty and she loved Verity dearly, but when under the influence of alcohol, she had very little control over her melancholy. 

It must have been written across her face, because Caroline curled her arms around her from behind in a hug that could have meant they'd been friends for years. 

"He'll come to his senses soon, Demelza. You'll see."

She sighed and gave Caroline a doubtful look, thanking her with a smile. Drunkly, they attempted to brew some Earl Grey tea, not far off burning themselves. 

"I just... feel like I need him," she murmured, curling under her duvet, barely able to feel her face. "Like, really  _need_ him – and I  _hate it._ " 

"We all know what that's like, Demelza – "

"Yes, but everyone else – all you _ordinary_ people – at leas' gets t'enjoy the good parts! The flirting and the casual sex and the dates – even if it doesn't last long or isn't with the one they want – but  _me?"_ She sighed heavily, one silent tear falling to her pillow, though Caroline could not see. "I've never had any of the fun parts of love, either. No one has ever even liked me enough to ask me out for coffee!"

Caroline didn't reply, because there was little she could say. She simply sat across the room and sipped her tea. Demelza could feel her sympathetic gaze on the back of her head.

"Do you know what it feels like to feel like you're sat around, waitin' for y'life to start? Like everyone else is running while you're stuck able to do little more than a  _safe... sensible_ walk?"

"Can't say I do," the blonde whispered. "I've always been the run rather than walk type."

"Well... That's what being a virgin at university feels like." The 'V' word had almost come to be a dirty word as it fell from her mouth, leaving in a cold sweat. When strangers would say it, she would fidget against her will, as though to say,  _Please don't look at me... It's obvious that I'm one too... isn't it?_

"You won't be a virgin forever, Demelza – that I  _do_ know."

Caroline curled up behind her, making the two of them like two spoons laying together, as they realised there were no clean sheets for the spare bed. She draped an arm over Demelza, which left her feeling somewhat frustrated with herself. Here was a beautiful woman, offering her comfort, and yet all that consumed her mind wasn't peace or relief from being comforted, but anxiety and awkwardness. 

There the voice was again, the same one that screamed at her every time she tried to accept the physical advances of stranger men in bars:  _You're touching me._ The voice said this as though it was news, as though it was something that was unthinkable. Mostly, the voice was simply too loud to ignore. Her top lip tingled as though it might sweat and her spine straightened a fraction. Suddenly she was wide awake.  _Someone is touching me._

She had yet to uncover whether this feeling of anxiety was based simply in her inexperience, her lack of affectionate behaviour in her life... or if it was fear.  _Was_ she afraid to be touched, to be intimate? 

She felt Caroline completely relax behind her, hand arm now loose over Demelza's hip. 

_Yes,_ she concluded, now wide awake.  _Perhaps I am afraid._

"You know..." After all, intimacy meant vulnerability... Something that Demelza would never, ever freely give. "I'm startin' to think p'rhaps I will."

She must have fallen asleep, though had no idea for how long, as the shrill sound of the house phone awoke Demelza from her slumber. She groaned, desperate not to have to wade to the surface of consciousness as she was in the middle of a wonderful dream. Ross, kissing her neck...holding her into the heat of his body... 

She heard Verity get up to answer it, though she barely opened an eye. Caroline didn't even rouse behind her. Rising her head an inch off the pillow, her forehead throbbed like a hammering drum. She heard the shuffle of footsteps climbing the stairs, and suddenly the room was flooded with light from the hall. 

Groaning, Demelza couldn't help but curse. "What?"

"Ross is on the phone – he wants to talk to you."

Her heart lurched in her chest at the sound of his name, much to her own distain. "What? _Me?!"_

Verity was gone before she could even get a look at her, so she stumbled down the stairs, attempting to fight off the effects of her recent drunkenness and failing. After colliding with two walls, she reached the wall phone and took it off its hook, nervously curling a hand around the coiled wire. 

_Breathe, Demelza._

"Hello?" 

_"Demelza."_

His voice was like a shock, hot-wired to her deepest, most intimate muscles. She felt them twitch as a flush settled over her skin. She was dangerously short of breath as she near-crushed the phone in her hand. 

It was only then, as the crackling silence drew out between them, that she took note of the dark, desolate nature of his tone. 

Something was very wrong. 

"Ross," she breathed, unsure of what to say. "What is it? Are you alright?"

_"No... I'm..."_ His voice was void of its usual strength. _"My father just died."_

Instantly, her stomach dropped to her feet and her heart splintered in sympathy. While she could never understand grief at the loss of a father, since she often wished her own would stop living, she felt her chest ache at his tone. It scratched and rumbled as though he'd been crying. 

"Oh, Ross," she sighed sorrowfully, instantly losing all of her nerves and fear. "I'm so sorry."

He made a noise that made her want to cry, as though he himself was losing control. _"I'm sorry to wake you – but I had to tell_  someone _... Since Francis, I feel like I don't have...anyone...except Verity... and_ you."

"Me?" The confession made it hard to breathe. _He thinks of me!_ "Oh, Ross – please only say such things to me if you mean them!"

She heard him let in a shaking, deep breath. _"I never say things I don't mean, 'melza."_

Demelza's grip on the phone now painful as she slowly sank down to the floor, her head swimming. She was completely unsure of what to say. She was sure there were words she could say in this situation that would be considered the perfect response, words that would come naturally to someone who was used to flirting with men. As it was though, she was her typical clueless self. 

_"How are you?"_ he murmured lowly in a near whisper. 

_Much better, now._ "A little bit drunk, I won't lie."

That made him laugh, which she considered a triumph. The sound made her heart leap. 

_"I'll be joining you on that, soon enough."_

The silence that then stretched out between them felt her heart hammering in her chest, the sound of his breathing leaving her breathless. 

"Don't get too drunk, please," she whispered, picturing the angst she had previously witnessed in his eyes as he'd drank from the bottle. "You'll hurt yourself."

He huffed aloud, sounding surprised. _"I can't make promises like that in my current state, I'm afraid."_ Another soft chuckle rose goosebumps on her skin.

"If I were there with you, I'd join you." Leaning forward, she pressed her forehead to her knees. "I don't like the thought of you drinkin' alone, Ross."  

_"You needn't worry about me, Demelza – "_

" – Well, I _do!_ " The words escaped her before she could consider them and they left her face flushing hot with the shame of her admission. "I  _do,_ Ross."

He made the sound again and Demelza felt tears swell in her throat, making it ache as she swallowed them down. _"That means a great deal... Thank you."_

"D'n't mention it – It's not as though I have a choice. I'm a worrier."

She could hear the smile in his voice. _"I gathered as much, Miss Carne."_ In her mind, she kissed him for that.  _"I'm sorry I woke you – you should go."_

His bid farewell made her stomach flip in disappointment, as her mind scrambled for a reason to make him stay on the line. 

"Please don'apologise," she husked distractedly, scrambling to stand. She pictured him, cradling the phone against the crown of his curls as tendrils fell into his eyes. She wondered if his beard had grown, or if he'd shaved it. As hard as she tried, she couldn't picture what he looked like clean shaven.  "I dreamt of you last night," she confessed lowly, a near whisper. The alcohol must have made her take leave of her senses, because she had never intended to confess such a thing. Her skin burned as she swallowed down her anxiety and shame as her admission, deciding that if she was to get anywhere with a man like Ross, then she'd have to be brave.  _And the night before that,_ her mind continued.  _And the night before_ that...The quiet that stretched between them made her want to vomit, her mind instantly leaping to the worst case scenario. _Now you've done it, Demelza – you_ _idiot!_

Then – _"Oh really?"_ She could hear the smug grin in his voice. _"That's very reassuring to hear."_

What did _that_ mean? Her nails bit into her own thigh in anxious frustration.  _Typical man – giving away nothing._  

"It is?" she breathed, her mouth dry.

_"Yes – because I may have had a dream or two about you, too."_

That hadn't been the response she expected and it felt her floundering for a reply. "Oh."

His kindness was like a breath of fresh air – but more than that, his eagerness was reassuring. He didn't even try to conceal what he wanted, something she had come to expect from men. 

"Demelza, lover!" Caroline's sultry call came from directly behind her and made her jump. She span around and came eye to eye with a woman who looked to be on a mission. Her eyes glinted with mischief. "Demelza," she called, despite being but a foot away from Demelza's ear. "Lover, come back to bed..."

Instantly, Demelza's eyes widened as she attempted to clutch the phone to her breast to muffle any sound Ross may hear, despite the fact it was obvious she was too late. 

_"Demelza? Who_  was _that?"_ Ross' enquiry could be hear between the two women, despite the fact she held the phone to her chest. She glared at Caroline as she spluttered out her words. 

"What are you  _doing?!_ " she hissed. Caroline simply grinned, going her a knowing wink. 

"Enticing the dog with a bone," she whispered. Demelza must have looked clueless, because she rolled her eyes good-naturedly before elaborating. 

Demelza felt panic rise in her breast as she became aware she had still to reply to the man waiting on the phone. 

_"His father just died!"_ she hissed in response. "I'm not playing games with him!"

"Oh, no," Caroline sighed, looking instantly guilty. "Still, though – there's nothing wrong with making him sweat a little, is there?"

"Ross? Sorry – " she urged, pressing the phone back to her ear with haste. 

_" – who was that?"_ She instantly recognised the defensive shift in his voice. 

She closed her eyes, aware of her moral compass more than ever. She had to tell him – she _didn't_ lie... But how would she tell him?  _'Well, you don't know this, but I'm actually bisexual and I brought a girl home with me tonight because I'm desperate to distract myself from my thoughts of you but I've discovered physical contact makes me uncomfortable so all she's now doing is sharing my bed...'_

Peeking at Caroline, she could see the logic behind her mischief. The devil on her shoulder rubbed her hands with glee at the idea.  _Entice him,_ it urged.  _Intrigue him._

"I met this girl tonight at the Bowery," she said, turning her back on Caroline so she wouldn't have to see the look on her face. "She's staying the night at ours."

_"You 'met a girl'?"_ This bemusement made him sound almost himself again. _"What is that supposed to mean?"_ She felt her chest stir at his tone, because it reminded her of every other person's tone when she hinted at such things. It said  _What? I thought you were a virgin,_ and it made her want to prove them wrong with every fibre in her body. _Just because I'm a virgin, doesn't make me_ _a nun!_

"Exactly what you think it means, Ross."

She knew of the stereotypical reaction men seemed to have at the idea of women getting together – it was a no brainer. However, she had never considered if this was something that would rile Ross the right way. However, as she hinted at sexual relations between herself and Caroline, that had not in fact occurred, he went very quiet for a moment. Closing her eyes, she could picture him biting his lip to restrain himself, just as he had in her dream, and pressing a firm hand to his crotch in attempts to relieve himself. 

"Didn't you know?" she continued, pretending to be completely unaware of his silence. "Us modern women don't _discriminate_."

Unable to keep herself from smirking, her nonchalant tone was deliberate. Behind her, Caroline cackled, barely concealing the sound as she dropped her face into Demelza's shoulder. 

A low, strangled moan sounded into her ear, instantly ridding her mind of all humour and replacing it wish lust that left her barely surpassing a shiver.  _"Fucking hell, Demelza,"_ he whispered croakily in her ear, just as Caroline let out a breath into her hair. A jolting shiver spread through her again, leaving her without breath in her lungs.

"I'll be thinking of you," she whispered, a choice of words that seemed completely not her own. It was as though she was outside of herself now, without control over her own body or her own mind. On the other end of the line, he hummed low in appreciation and she could picture nothing but the long, thick column of his throat as he arched his neck. 

"Likewise, Miss Carne."

Somehow, though no further words were shared between them, it felt as though they had reached some form of crossroads – one in which the right direction was all too clear...but all too hard to reach. 

"Goodnight, Ross." She let out a sigh that was near a moan as she said goodbye.  _Soon,_ she told herself as Caroline lead her back, giggling that she had him in her grasp.  _They had to cross paths soon._  


	6. Close Calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Verity throws a surprise party for Ross... who hates parties. 
> 
> Evidently, all is bound to go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO :)  
> So, thanks to the wonderful (and sinful) gifs iorwen sent me, this is finally in motion. However, the chapter got so long that it's split in half... but don't worry. You won't have to wait long! I promise! Part 2 is almost done!
> 
> This chapter and further chapter's will start to unpick issues that Demelza doesn't even realise she has, so please be patient. This Demelza is very important to me because it's all about her growing and learning to trust despite her fears about men and her lack of experience... something that I feel we don't see much of in the BBC's adaptation.  
> Please let me know what you think... and please ask me any questions should you have any about the issues I've chosen to include in this chapter. 
> 
> Also – please do remember – it's 1995. 
> 
> LOVE YALL. 
> 
> (Evidently - I do not own these wondrous character's.... I just borrowed them for this 1990's 'verse. ;)

**"Close Calls"**  
  
Part I

* * *

* * *

Verity Poldark would never consider herself a cunning person, but when it came to what was right, she would do almost anything. 

She couldn't say she was surprised when her cousin had rung to report the passing of his father, only to promptly ask for her beautiful, innocent housemate. She had seen the way they looked at one another, that first night and nights subsequently. Thus, when Demelza had attempted to play down the level of her affections, Verity had felt amused and smug that she had already guessed what was going on. Evidently, her friend did not perceive the changes in her own behaviour, the way that she became quiet and distant and began drinking much more. 

Verity knew very little of her friend's upbringing, other than the fact she had grown up in Illugan, Cornwall, her mother had passed away after childbirth and her father was not a man to be messed with. She hadn't given away this information freely, but she had seen the marks on her mid back and put two and two together, only bringing them up when Demelza had complained that her father had rung her again. It had been an emotional conversation, resulting in the spontaneous consumption of two tubs of ice cream, but it had brought the two of them much closer together.

It was from here that she began to understand the nature of her friend's 'island' like state, the way she kept herself removed from becoming too close to anyone. It became clear that this was as much a conscious choice as it was an unconscious choice. She seemed to be removed from the fact she separated herself deliberately, but Verity considered perhaps this was because she was frightened to let people in. She therefore showed little interaction with men or romance, but Verity could see that she craved such things more than anything, because she craved to be normal, to no longer be so afraid. 

Thus, she had formulated a plan, along with Caroline, to help ease Demelza toward happiness, because it was the least she deserved, even if she didn't think so.

She had thought it rather amusing that neither her cousin Ross nor Demelza could see how obvious it was that they liked one another. It was quite amusing really, that they both thought they were subtle in their behaviour, when in reality they both became distracted and removed. Demelza, Verity was sure, had no idea of Ross' past, of his history of sleeping with anything that moved until the day he met Elizabeth, from which point he became besotted and completely monogamous. His father Joshua had been notorious for his gallivanting with numerous women since Ross' mother Grace died when he was a child and thus behaviour had led Ross down much the same path, purely out of defiance. It was hardly surprising that he was much more success at it than Joshua could ever be, as the beauty of Grace's genetics had given Ross a face that made grown women weep at the sight. 

However, Ross had always inherited the typical Dark Poldark temperament – he was hasty and sharp tempered, strong in his likes and dislikes. She considered that perhaps this was the very reason it could be dangerous for her innocent, sweet friend to become associated with her cousin. 

That being said, as she watched her cousin attempt to hold in his tears as he left his father's funeral, in head-to-toe black, she considered that perhaps his passion and fierce loyalty that was precisely what Demelza needed. After all, a Poldark's heart was not easy given, but once given it was near impossible to withdraw. 

She made her way to the wake and found Ross hidden away in the kitchen, nursing a crystal tumbler of Joshua's prize whisky.

His eyes were dark surrounded by deep set circles. He barely noticed her at first, clearly deep in thought. 

"Oh Ross," she sighed, sorrowfully, moving into the room. He noticed her and attempted to, as though he had said the words a thousand times that day. She held his gaze with an expression that was grave with sympathy and it only took moments for his own to respond. His eyes were suddenly glassy with unshed tears as he took an unsteady breath.

"The only person I wanted here was you," he elaborated softly, leaving her with nothing left but to hurry forward and hug him hard. It was somewhat diff to hold him, given his great size and height, but he was strong and so kept her from losing her balance. She pretended not to notice the sound of muffled of his sobs against her shoulder. She sneezed him hard and held him shudder against her with pent up emotion. Drawing back enough to get a look at his face, she noted his eyes were red and swollen, his lower lashes separated by his tears. 

"Well, I'm pretty sure I'm not the  _only_ one you could have wanted here," she countered with a smile, hoping to distract him. 

"What? Who?" he sniffed, rubbing his eyes. 

"I think you know," she replied with a knowing smile. It took him only a few moments to catch her meaning, after which he flushed.

At mention of her housemate, he fidgeted uncomfortably as a ruddy tone settled on his cheeks. The sorrow in his eyes dissipated, giving way to his usual mischief as he attempted not to grin. "How is she?" 

"You tell me!" His attempts to sound nonchalant made it incredibly hard not to laugh. "You had quite the conversation with her the other night." She took the tumbler from his grasp just before he could take another gulp, giving him a maternal glare. He grumbled but didn't attempt to take it back. 

He sighed at her deviously knowing tone, trying not to rise to it, because after all, she _was_ right. "No, it wasn't... I just... Who was the girl?"

"Caroline?" She bit her lip, as she knew full well of their new friends devious plot to bring the ridiculous two together. "She and Demelza just took a shine to one another, that's all."

"I gathered as much," he murmured knowingly, a smirk painted around his face.

Taking a deep breath, Verity decided to take the plunge. "Any plans for your birthday?"

He make a sound from the back of his throat that indicated thorough disinterest. "After the few months I've had, I'm not really in the mood for festivities."

Raising her fist, she struck him on the arm good-naturedly. "But that's precisely why you _should!_ _"_

He groaned and scrubbed his hands over his face. "Verity, please," he sighed in exasperation. She took a moment to take in his appearance, noting that he was even more unruly than usual. A full beard had begun to form across his jaw and his trademark curls now reached his shoulders. They made her smile. If there was ever a symbol of Ross Poldark's state of mind, it was his hair. 

She put her requests on the back burner, refocusing on comforting him with another embrace. They took in silence for a moment, but Verity heard his next words before he said them. They both knew exactly in which direction he wished the conversation to return to. 

“When you see Demelza," he broached, "tell her…” He trailed off, struggling for words. “Tell her I said hello, won’t you?”

Grinning, Verity bit the inside of her cheek. All in good time, she chastised to herself. Don’t spook the poor man. “Ross Poldark!” she betrayed in a friendly scold. “Do you or do you  _not_  have a landline?! I’m sure the girl would much prefer you to hear from you herself!”

The man looked near petrified at this idea, which left Verity both dismayed at the fragile state of modern masculinity…and astounded that men managed to function with such ridiculous social restrictions they set for themselves. 

Thus, she settled on a goodnatured, but needed, thump to the side of his head. “No games, Ross Vennor Poldark!” Her tone resembled that of her mother, causing her to inwardly cringe. “She’s my friend! You will play no games with sweet Demelza – or – ” Holding out her arm for him to take, he did so, accepting he would have to make his appearance amongst their guests sooner or later.

“Or?” he prompted, though he sounded apprehensive at what he response may be, leaving her feeling somewhat proud of herself.

She scoffed as they made their way back toward the drawing room, Nampara having been dressed up in all its antique manor splendour. “I’ll kill you – obviously.” 

He nodded once. “I see. Quite a dark sense of humour for a funeral there, Ver.” Instantly, Verity lost her arrogance and reeled back with eyes like saucers, a hand over her mouth as she began stuttering an apology. Ross, though, was smiling. “I was joking, cous’.” Taking a deep breath, he seemed to steel himself, bringing down his trademark resolve as he stepped past the threshold of privacy. “I’m partial to dark humour too, _remember_?”

Verity pinched his solid bicep hard, not at all amused. “I mean it, you. _No games_.”

It was then that Francis and Elizabeth entered the room and Verity felt her chest seize with dread. She felt Ross' response without even turning her head, feeling the muscles in his forearm and elbow tense beneath her hand, reminding her of the sheer strength her cousin possessed, should he want to employ it. "Ross..."

She watched the mixture of fury and agony fight for dominance in his eyes and she expected the worst... until suddenly they gave way to indifference. 

"It's okay," he assured under his breath, turning to her with a surprisingly concrete smile. "It's about time I grew some balls and bit this bullet." Reaching over to the tray of wine, he took a long sip form the nearest glass. "Do my father proud."

Instantly, Verity wanted to scold him in apprehension for what he may do, because Ross was capable of blind fury when the red mist descended, they all knew that, and he was much taller and larger than Francis. He must have seen the trepidation in her face, because he leant forward and kissed her head with the sudden serene aura of a holy man. As much as she liked to believe in Ross' better nature, she couldn't help but blink in surprise. 

"Don't look so frightened," he teased as he turned. "I'm wise and thoughtful in my old age."

He heard her muttering of  _"Bullshit!"_  as he walked away, but had to hide his smirk as he came face to face with Elizabeth. Her hair was as it always had been, long past her breast and perfectly curled, her face void of make up other than lipstick and mascara and yet as clear and fresh as that of a child. As he watched her flounder for words to say to him other than "Ross!" and "I'm so sorry!", realisation suddenly descended upon him with the weight of the sky. "What are you doing here?" The question was without venom or malice, though it took everything in him to have it that way. Instead, his tone was soft and nonchalant, as though he had entirely forgotten her existence. "I understand Fracis' presence, but it's not _your_ uncle's funeral." He held his polite smile, as though he was making an genuine enquiry, and he watched has his unfriendly manner caused her eyes to dim, though of course he decorum did not slip an inch.  
  
"I'm here to see _you_ , of course," she simpered, "because I'm sorry – obviously – about your father – and also about – "  
  
"Don't." He moved closer toward her, and while this move would always have been in desire before, today it was with the intent of intimidation. "Don't you  _dare_ try to justify... _that_... in _here_!" He felt the lurch of fury as his gaze snapped up to regard his from behind a lowered, disapproving brow. He had not raised his voice an inch, but his nonchalant tone was now replaced with one that rose the hair on the young Chenoweth girl's girls for all the wrong reasons. "Have you no _shame_? No _remorse_? To come here and expect me to hear your apology on the day of my father's burial – ?"   
  
"I mean you no harm – "  
  
" – and yet _harm_ me is all you have been doing of late!"   
  
"And for that I so devastatingly sorry! Oh, Ross – when I think of you hating me – "  
  
"Whether or not I hate you is no longer your concern," he sniped dismissively, "and entirely your own doing." He felt weary with every word, not one to like exchanging harsh words that he may later regret. Unfortunately, he had always been partial to such comments in his hurt and rage.   
  
Her eyes were round and glassy with emotion, but it only made him feel further removed from her. Who was this person? How could this be the same woman he had loved so much, so wholeheartedly, with every moment of the day and more nights, too? He looked over her, knowing they were drawing attention from those pretending to chatter distractedly around them, and his chest ached with sorrow and loss, thawing any trace of the fury that consumed him not a moment before.   
  
"I _loved_ you," he whispered, his tone soft but fuelled with disappointment. "With _everything_ I had, I loved you... and yet, _this_ is what you leave me with."   
  
She didn't try to defend herself again, or say another word. He didn't expect her to, for what could she say?   
  
"Not that it matters now," he concluded with a deep breath that puffed his chest, glancing over her shoulder where Francis stood across the room, in polite conversation. "I just hope it was worth it, for both your sakes."  
  
He could tell she had questions, wanting to know why he was simply letting her go, but he had no energy left to deal with her, much less Francis, as he had originally intended. Instead, she conceded and turned on her heel to return to Francis, who had not had the guts to approach and was pretending to be deeply interested in conversation with their batty Great Aunt Agatha instead. Ross shook his head, unable to keep from snorting to himself as he turned away from them, leaving them to their foolery, because suddenly it was as though a light had been shone on what it was he had never understood before. 

Elizabeth had been his  _ideal_ of what a love could be... but she had never actually been that love. She could never have been. So preoccupied was she with selling lies of perfection behind a permanent mask that Elizabeth was destined to feel as though no one was ever quite enough. 

Ross stepped out into the garden of his father's beloved house and continued on, walking until he was long past the stone wall and into the meadow, littered for half a mile with wild corn flowers. Without so much as a glance at all his father's friends and foes, he was relieved to have found himself alone amongst the wildness again; amongst grassland that refused to be tamed and flowers that bloomed with such spontaneity and timeless colourful beauty. Many, many a time as foolish boy, then as a foolish _young man_ , he had dreamed of one day living with Elizabeth on this land; of sitting amongst the tall grass and perhaps even bringing a dog or a child down to the meadow one day, too. Thus, for a very long time, the scent of the field became inevitably intertwined with the life he mentally crafted for them, of all the dreams he had and buried deep beneath his ribs out of shame for his own true romanticism.

Now, no longer a boy, as he breathed in the sweet, heady scent and closed his eyes, for the first time, Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen.

Now, amongst the dazzling azure and lilac hues that danced in the breeze, his mind's eye painted a shock of red, dancing along the horizon; her smile filling him with the serenity of the meadow. He knew he was foolish, to let him mind wonder this way, but he was emotional, having just buried his last direct relative.

Laughing at himself, Ross considered what his father would say if he were able to hear his thoughts. " _You just too damn flowery, boy – and when you're not flowery, you're too busy with your fuckery!"_ It wasn't an inaccurate description by any means, particularly of his teenage self, but his father had never been able to fathom any concept of sensibility, or compassion and emotional capacity of any sort, really. Well, not that Ross could remember. He liked to think that perhaps, _just_ perhaps, the prickly, snobbish old man was once a fool for the woman he loved, too and that it was only the unthinkable torment of losing her that tore all that away.

He had never been close to Joshua Poldark, no, but he was still the only father Ross was ever going to get, and no matter their differences, he had always known that counted for something.

Now, he stood on land, once his father's, that was now his alone and his mind inevitably turned to all he had lost; his sweet mother, whom was snatched from he before he could truly know her; Elizabeth; and now his father. With the heavy shadow of Francis and Elizabeth's unreconcilable betrayal on his back, he felt he had little left in the ways of 'family', and thanked the powers that be that at least he had Verity; sweet, _incorruptible_  Verity.

Without her as his lifelong friend and confidant, he probably would not have made it to twenty-two a free man. 

However, as he gazed over the Nampara property, where he had been born and raised, he realised that he didn't much mind not having a 'family' in the conventional sense... It didn't matter, because he could never lose everything, as long as he had _this_. As long as he had _Nampara_.

In his mind, where Elizabeth had once walked for years with the elegance of a porcelain doll amongst the growth with poised hands and unchanged smile, Demelza Carne now unashamedly frolicked, danced and laughed, the fire of her hair dancing behind her as he chased her through the green. They were not too unlike her, he considered, as he brushed the petals between his fingers, without the heart to pick them.

Sweet, bright, _innocent_ Demelza moved like the wind, in a way that he already knew he would never be able predict or contain, but nor did he wish to. In much the same way as the seeds dispersed beauty and colour year after year, even in the most unlikely, unforgiving terrain, Demelza's beauty and sensitivity seemed to enrich those around her – her ignorance of this fact made him smile like a fool. 

While his class were _foolish_ and _ignorant_  toward the mostly unearned, _continent_ nature of their privilege, Demelza reminded him of all that utterly deserving and unappreciated in the world. It had reminded him of exactly _why_ it was he had wanted to stand against his own kind for so long in the first place, just  _why_ the people he was  _supposed_ to call his own made him sick.

They were false, there was no real beauty in any of them.  _Yes_ Elizabeth was astonishing, distracting beautiful, but he could no longer see the appeal if there was no puzzle to unlock in the women beneath it. 

While women like Elizabeth were brought up to be groomed into prized roses, grown simply to be preened and picked to be _displayed_ , Demelza Carne was like the wild cornflowers; untouched and unapologetic in her uniqueness, fortuitous and understated in her beauty, much like the vivid blues and lilac petals against the norm of green land and inky sea. Gentle though the petals may seem, the fragile cornflower was hardy against the wailing winds... something that seemed quite akin to the modest, frightened but _fiery_ Demelza he had known since that very first day.

As he made his way back to the house, planning to hide until every guest had left, he found himself mentally transfixed, attempting to recall every detail of her face; the line of her pale jaw, her freckled cheek, that pump, pink lip. He considered his cousin's warning, replaying it over and over, knowing it was not to be taken lightly. After all, it was clear they were opposites, in many, many ways; he was dark and moody where she was open and bright; he overzealous and headstrong where she was shy and critically thoughtful. Though Verity had not said explicitly the reason he had to tread so carefully, he felt he already knew. 

After all, cornflowers were wild and not for man to pluck, as they would just wilt if away from the majesty of their meadow...  _But_   _boy!_ he thought with a grin, memories of fiery kisses, bashful smiles and red, soft curls swirled around him as he lounged under his mother's oak tree, as fleeting as the wind. _They were a sight, indeed!_

* * *

When Verity had suggested holding a surprise party for Ross, Demelza had been instantly giddy with bountiful enthusiasm at the prospect. 

Together with Verity and Caroline, she journeyed down from Bristol to Truro, feeling her eagerness suddenly begin to be replaced by jittering nerves. Her stomach somersaulted throughout the entire journey and it became obvious that the human body could not distinguish or differentiate between excitement and nerves, as the symptoms for both were much the same and very much present. 

It was made worse by the sight of the BMW that pulled up to fetch them from the station – driven by none other than Verity's infamous brother, Francis. Simply been in his presence made Demelza feel uneasy, since she knew of his betrayal of Ross and had witnessed his subsequent despair the night he sort solace in their flat. She felt as though being driven by him, small talking with him, was betraying Ross' too, because how could she smile in the face of a man that did such a cruel thing to the one person who seemed to care and listen to her?

"You're from around here then, Demelza?" Francis questioned as they drove, as the conversation between the two other women had dropped. She rose her head, busy imagine worse case scenarios of Ross' reaction out the window, and gave a calm, disconnected answer. 

"Yes. Illugan, so not too far."

"Ah, yes. I once knew a bloke from there – he was in my fencing class at school. Um – Joseph! He was frightfully good – at the school on a scholarship. D'you remember Joseph, Verity?" 

And, just like that, conversation moved off into unchartered waters again, covering subject matters that Demelza barely understood, never mind had hope of answering. She didn't mind though. She loved journeys for their solitude, whether it be on trains or in cars. She loved to watch the world pass by, but mostly she loved that sitting still gave her the excuse to daydream, to lose herself in nothing but thought (and, until it packed up last year, folk music from her second hand walkman). Now, as she gazed out at the passing view, she eyes were unseeing. Digression toward thoughts of Ross was almost embarrassingly instant. She felt like an addict, constantly trapping into the source for every little drop she could get. Would he have a beard now, she wondered? His stubble was dense the last time they met, though she wouldn't have called it a beard. It scratched her face when they'd kissed, leaving her lips tingly and sore, which simply added to the thrill. What would he wear? He had donned relatively dark clothing thus far, she recalled, memories of the tight-fitted black long sleeve he had worn the night they met filling her mind with wild ideas all over agin. It had been so close to the skin that his enviable physique was clearly visible, her eyes unable to stop from taking in the visible strength in his arms... and his back. She liked the modesty of this choice though, too – that the cloth covered everything and yet let her with little left to imagine.

After changing into her trusty emerald plaid mini dress, black tights and biker boots, Demelza hastily helped to dress Trenwith house ready for guests. She got lost, several times, as the great house was larger than any home she had ever been in. She had tried not to stare in the face of such majesty as they had been driven up the drive, inwardly questioning how it was she a person like her came to be here at all. The difference between herself and her housemate made her feel dwarfed, in that moment, as insecurities often do, though she hastily shook it off as she began to fret about seeing Ross again instead. 

The closer the day grew toward the requested time of guest arrival, the more Demelza began to worry they were making a mistake. After all, Verity had said Ross hated parties and certainly didn't like being the centre of attention – all that and to top it all off, his father had just passed! It seemed a big risk, in Demelza's mind, but then, as Caroline liked to indelicately point of frequently, everything did. 

"Ver," she broached as she attempted to draw on her eye liner her friend's vanity mirror, the shake in her hand not going unnoticed. "Are'ya sure about this? Is Ross is goin' to like this – 'avin' a party for 'em and makin' him the centre of attention?"

Verity just smiled and seemed unfazed as she added the final touches to her curled hair. "Oh no, he'll _hate_ it!" she agreed, wholeheartedly, "but only for a few seconds! Trust me." 

Demelza knew one of her most chronic, and in a sense _self destructive_ , vices was her ability to worry herself to distraction, whether it be in fact a pressing issue or a figment of her imagination. She attempted to swallowed her unease as she padded a touch of blush to her cheeks, sighing. 'But Verity –  _how – ?_ _"_

Her friend turned, her taffeta dress swirling around her as she moved in a manner most typical of Verity, sweeping and bouncy. She regarded Demelza with a look that said what she was about to divulge was completely and utterly obvious. Caroline simply patted her head from her side in a manner that was deliberately patronising (and made Demelza want to slap her silly). " – Because _you're_ here, silly!"

As guests arrived, there were few who even acknowledged Demelza unless Verity introduced them, most far too excited to see one another again to notice her, having separated off to universities across the country. Most that did soon gathered she was no of their sort. Two rounds of _'Oh! I love your hair! Is it real?'_ and the considerably more impetuous _'Where did you go to school?'_ and she was about ready to be done with the whole thing – if it weren't for her desperate need to set eyes on Ross again.

However, she soon found there was one who did not make her feel so inferior, a kind looking, fair man, with an easy smile and a slight curl to his tidy hair. His name was Dwight, he said, and he was a medical student in London, where he had met Ross in their first year. However, when he asked how she knew Ross, she found she wasn't sure how to answer. What did she say? Well, I'm his cousin's friend... He and I are friends, I think, but we may, eventually, if I promise to pray to heaven for the rest of my life, become something else...   
  
"Um, I live with his cousin, Verity," she replied carefully, taking a ruthless swig from her cup. "I've only met him a few times. I'm Demelza."   
  
His eyebrows seemed to raise then, leaving a worrisome Demelza wondering if she had something in her teeth, until – "Oh, you're Demelza?" He then smiled shyly, as though he had let slip something he shouldn't. "I've heard about you."   
  
"You have?!" She felt herself fidgeting in alarm, but also her hopefulness...  _Could it be?_ "Well, that's worrying."   
  
Dwight laughed and patted her arm. "Don't worry. Ross was quite complimentary. He says you play guitar very well. I play, too. Have you ever considered joining a band?"

Dwight's honestly left her reeling, but she was not given the time to think it over, for in that moment, Verity came burst through the hall and into the open plan drawing room, in which all the guests had congregated, all the fine antique furniture having been moved out. "He's here!" she squeaked hysterically, flapping her hands and grinning with such velocity that Demelza considered the smile might split her face in half! "Everyone quiet!"

Someone cut out the strings of fairy lights and lamps that lit the room, leaving a hum of hushed whispers and tension. Demelza instantly fell back, settling herself as far back in the room as possible, settling against the long finding room table that was being used for drinks. She couldn't breathe, feeling as though the darkness surrounding her was pressing down on her chest. 

 _He's here!_ It was as though every cell in her body was screaming.  _Ross is here!_

Once upon a time, she would have chastised herself for such hysteria at the thought of a man, but on this night, she cared not of her usual conventions. Ross was slowly but surely challenging her to reassess the rules she set herself, that she rigidly lived by despite the fact that they were making her all the more miserable these days.  

Now, there was no chastisement left in her, but a feverish, suffocating eagerness that left her both hot with anticipation and frigid with terror, all at once. 

She heard the front door open and the echo of footsteps against the old wooden floor, harsh but steady in their pace. A dark, tall silhouette appeared beneath the arch of entrance to the vast, open dining room. Instantly, the light was thrown on, and the tens of guests all hurled their shouts of "Surprise!". 

Demelza never managed to get the word out, for the very thought of him in the room with her was enough to rend her breathless. Though, primarily her speech was lost out of a sudden spike in her nerves, as she fretted still that what they were about to do would do nothing but make the poor, sweet man miserable. 

He blinked in shock at the sight of all those he knew before him, evidently having not suspected at all of Verity's plan. He let out a breathless laugh of surprise and cursed, causing many of the guests to cackle and hurry to greet him. Music filled the room then and chatter broke out with a vengeance, so none of the other guests seemed to see what Demelza saw, as her eyes remained on him from her hiding place. As he greeted each face, his eyes, usually so expressive and earnest, did not share the smile that graced his face, though his mood seemed to improve marginally at the sight of his kind friend Dwight. They embraced and Demelza watched the way they held onto one another for a good few seconds, much longer than he had with any other that he greeted. It was clear to her then that there was perhaps no one in this world who knew Ross better than Dwight. Caroline suddenly appeared beside her, grinning so ridiculously with such canning mischief that Demelza rolled her eyes and glared. 

"Please, don't try anythin' right now, Caroline. I know wha' you're goin' to say and  _yes,_ I am going to talk to him... just not until he's finished greetin' all of his own sort."

Caroline said nothing, which was unusual. Demelza turned to look at her, finding her with a suddenly thoughtful look in her eye. She slowly nodded then and poured herself a drink, unnervingly quiet. "Okay, then." With a wink and a glassful of punch, she exudes herself. "I'm off to find me a dance partner."

It didn't take long before Ross made his escape, as she mentally predicted he would, because it was what she would do. Having greeted all who approached him, the distant look in his eyes was more prevalent. He slide behind the guests as they began dancing around the room in groups, toward the kitchen. It was only then that Demelza, having been hidden in a corner, behind a throng of painfully flirtatious girls, quietly followed.

He did indeed make his way to the kitchen, as while she didn't enter through the large, open plan archway as she immediately, she heard him let out a groan and a heavy breath. Her heart drummed in her chest at his proximity, but the sound of such discontentment made her stomach drop.

 _Well,_ the tiny brave voice declared, deep within her mind.  _Only one thing left to try._

Adjusting her slightly oversized leather jacket on her frame, she took a breath and moved into view. Here, she took in the sight of his posture, drooped with weary resignation over the countertop, hands flat against the marble as he braced his body and hung his head a little. He hadn't seen her, his back was facing her direction, allowing her the privilege of taking him in before she had to have coherent words prepared.  She felt heat rise up her neck at the sight of his attire, as the long-sleeve cotton top he wore was much the same design as the one had had been wearing the night they met, except this one was a stark, primary red.  _Finally,_ he was wearing  _colour!_ she thought. And,  _oh_ it was a sight to behold! The bright nature of the red brought out the olive tone to the back of his neck, the fit allowing her her to make out all the curves and strength in the muscles of his back, the definitions creating a enticing template of shadows when he breathed. His curls resembled a ebony halo around his head, as they were frizzed in every direction causing her fingers to itch to run his fingers through them, to grasp them and feel their wildness agains her skin...

She could feel her body reacting already, as it knew full well whom it was she could see before her. It remembered more than she the pleasures that the man induced all those weeks ago, and  _craved_ to feel them again... and more. She squeezed her thighs together and shook her head briefly in self-restraint.  _Pull yourself together!_

"Happy birthday." 

It was all she could think to say, as everything else circling her mind was far to inappropriate for so early on in the evening. Her voice was surprisingly solid to he down ears, which was a nice surprise, having expected it to sound as though she had smoked fifty a day with her current level of anxiety and... whatever else.

He span around on his heel at the sound of her voice and this time she saw the true look of delighted surprise on his features, that which she had not realised had been somewhat falsified upon his arrival into the party. "Demelza? You're here?!" His deep voice rose with slight boyish charm in his bewildered excitement. She giggled at his grin as she watched him grip the countertop behind him after a moment, evidently unsure as to how to proceed. "Oh, the relief!" he sighed gently with a laugh. "I truly thought I'd have to face all these old gits from my school days all night long."

"Well, I could not rightly subject y'ee to that, now could I?" She had moved toward him, leaving nothing but two foot of air between them. Though, at such closeness and such privacy, her defensive bashful traits began to descend. His gaze was heavy, expecting, questioning, and when she met it made her heart physically jump in an incredibly uncomfortable manner.

"Well, you could have! You are very kind to come and save me."

She wanted to laugh painfully at that comment, because he was surely the one who had been saving her? All this time, she had been unknowingly walking herself down a road of self-defensive, self-pitying, self-righteous abstinence for fear of rejection... Ross had been her reminder of what just might be possible... if she learnt to leap.

"Yes, well," she simpered, somehow finding her feet despite the heat of his somewhat sleepy, shy gaze. With a deep breath, and much internal screaming, she raised her eyes to his deep, warm brown depths again, but not before letting them linger of the sight of his defined physique in that casual,  _wonderful_ skintight top, knowing full well he could see her appraisal of him. His eyebrow rose at her brazen look and she bit down the urge to swoon and back down. Lifting her chin, she gave him her very best confident smirk and, in doing so, stepped into the void. "I have quite the full dance card at the moment, so you should count yourself lucky, sir."

Ross barely bit back the grin that rose his lip and revealed his shining teeth, his chuckle so very rich and warm in its depth that she was half surprised she didn't lose her nerve.

"Lucky me," he conceded with a knowing look, also playing along as he deployed the same tone of nonchalance. He pressed his lips together, evidently in an attempt to suppress laughter, but at the sight set Demelza off too, thus breaking the demure mood that had crackled momentarily between them. Now, she was just Demelza again, who giggled a lot and stated opinion without consideration and who knew absolutely nothing of her true sexual appeal. She leant against the counter beside him as their laughter dissipated and rose her eyes to his, despite the fact it made her heart rate increase aggressively.

"I've missed you," he confessed, unable to keep the words in any longer. He watched her blink in surprise before her eyes dropped with her trademark modesty, her cheeks flushed a delightful pink. He could feel his own were slightly warm, too, but he was unbothered by it. The only thing that left him anxious was that she would not return his eagerness in her reply. 

He needn't have worried, though, for she closed the small gap that was left between them in response.

She finally found herself in his embrace again, the euphoria of which was almost enough to send her needing to sit. 

He made a noise of surprise as she suddenly surged forward, wrapping her arms hard not around his neck like one night expect, but round his middle in a manner that was a level of endearing that only Demelza seemed to manage. She squeezed hard around his waist, her ear and curls pressed to his chest and so he embraced her around her shoulders and back with equal vigour. 

"I've missed you, too," she whispered. He had no idea of the effort it took for her to say these simply four words, as they made her squirm in their intimacy. Despite that though, she let him hold her, as the heat of his body next to her own with the greatest comfort she had ever known. When he draw her back, they stood much closer than before. She regarded him shyly through her lashes, but felt his round, earnest gaze stoking her confidence. As she look in his face, was noted that he had shaved, the stubble on his face the shortest she had ever seen it. Reaching up with her left hand, she smoothed the pad of her thumb down the centre of his slightly indent in his chin. The stubble was slightly prickly under it, but mostly softer than she thought, and it added an attractive shadow to his jawline. She let the thumb then trace the edge of his jaw and he let her, seemingly fascinated by her suddenly confidence.

"I'm so sorry about your dad," she said, for she could think of nothing else. The side of his lips wiped in a melancholy smile as he shook his head dismissively. 

"It's alright. We never were close anyway – well, not since my mother – " He pulled up short and Demelza was hit with a sudden realisation, one that filled her with sadness of her own, but also a massive wave of empathy that weaved another thread between them, strengthening their kinship. His mother had passed away – she never knew that, but then, she considered, he wouldn't know about hers' either... 

"My mother died, too," she divulged as she watched him, knowing herself the struggle of losing a parent and having to attempt to desperately squash the sadness that ballooned in one's chest back into Pandora's box whenever the subject came up. He blinked at her in surprise, then she watched has his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. "So, I know wha' it's like to not be okay but okay at once. You don't have to explain anythin' to me."

He drew her forward with a hand to her shoulder blade until he pressed his lips to the crown of her head, clearly appreciative of her words. She sighed at the contact, finding her hand braced against his firm waist to keep herself still and together. 

"I'm thankful more and more for you," he murmured with a twinkle in his eye, just before the sound of an intruder broke their safe space. She stepped back a little, or tried to, but found Ross' large, hot hand remained flat against her back against the counter. It was Dwight, thankfully, who possessed a ruthful smile at the sight of them. 

"You two had the right idea,"  he chuckled as he placed down the empty bottles he was carrying. "It's going to be a madhouse in here before long."

Ross guffawed at that, moving to pour himself a small glass of wine. "Name me one of Verity's parties that wasn't."

Meanwhile, Demelza stood against the counter, unsure of how to hold herself. With a sudden need to move, she smoothed her hands over her dress. "Right – I think I need a drink and a dance. Boys?" 

* * *

As she soon learned, Ross was not partial to dancing. He stood in his dark, brooding manner on the sidelines and watched her as she thrashed around like an idiot with Caroline, fourth drink in hand. She didn't need to turn to know he was watching, his eyes burning holes in her back. 

Caroline smirked at her when she caught her eye, pulling her near enough to speak over the music. "Lover boy's watching!"

Demelza grinned at her excitedly, exertion heating her cheeks and neck. Hastily, she threw off her leather jacket and span around, at a loss as to where to put it down. Her head turned and caught the eye of Ross across the room, leaning against the wall beside Dwight. He walked forward and held out a hand for the jacket. His smile warmed her heart, all close-mouthed and shy, as she hurried to hand him the garment. He gripped it, tugging on the material so she stumbled, closing the gap between them. He pecked her lips so quickly that she blinked and missed it, but she most definitely felt it. His lips were comforting, warm and dry and as soft as she remembered. He drew back with his trademark smirk that left her hot for a whole other reason.  

She span back towards Caroline, feeling free as the bass of the music vibrated through her. She let Ross watch, despite the fact it rose her hackles, because it made her feel desirable, something that was a delightful refreshing, even if it did make her nervous. Turning to him, it was suddenly aware that he wasn't the only one watching her. The group of flirtatious looking girls seemed curious about the strangers they did not recognise, but even more so now that Ross had kissed her, not two foot from them. Her stomach flipped uneasily, not liking being the subject of attention of she instantly took it as ridicule. 

Caroline took her by the hand and spun her around, her eyes communicating something loud and promiscuous. She rose her eyebrows in inquiry, only for Caroline to pull her close enough to speak intimately into her hair. 

"Shall we give them a show?" 

Demelza draw back, realising what her friend was insinuating. Her mind cast back to her midnight conversation with Ross the previous week, when implications of a physical relationship between herself and Caroline had caused Ross to groan so hauntingly in her ear.  _She wanted him to want her like that again._ More than that though, somewhat arrogantly, she wanted to tease him.

Caroline's presence was so comforting while surrounded by such veiled animosity, so perhaps that was why, when Caroline cupped her face and kissed her right in the middle the dance floor, she let her. She drew back afterward and caught Ross' eye from over Caroline's shoulder, feeling the smouldering heat of his gaze from across the room. His eyes were wide and round, unlike his usual narrow, thoughtful expression, his jaw rigid as he ground his teeth.  She danced toward him until she was but a few feet away, loving the song that played but not knowing the words.

He pulled her close for a moment, meeting her lips in a kiss that left her without thoughts in her head. His strong hold kept her on her feet as he gripped her waist, her hands coming to steady herself on his broad shoulders. His lips were insistent and hard, but restrained, as he inhaled sharp through his teeth, pulling back suddenly. 

"Demelza Carne. You are going to be the death of me," he husked against her face, only just loud enough for her to hear him over the music. She grinned, finding this highly amusing. 

"I do often wonder 'bout you, Ross Poldark," she stated boldly, giving him a bemused she of the head. He looked at her, questioning and innocent, playfully pulling her to him as she began to wriggle away.

"What?! Why?"

She hooted out a laugh that he could be so clueless. "'Cuz y'got that the wrong way round, an' all!"

He laughed at her and with her as she desperately motioned for him to join her in dancing. He denied graciously, his curls bouncing as he feverishly shook his head and kissed the back of her hands to pacify the rejection.  

She gave in, for now at least, and hurried back toward Caroline, her mind already set on making Ross Poldark dance by the end of the night, for if she had to let herself of her self restraints, then it was only fair that he should, too.

* * *

She went to the bathroom for the third time in what seemed like ten minutes, as was the effect of alcohol, and that's when she witnessed the taking of drugs for the first time. It was hardly surprising; the year was 1995 after all! Party drugs were everywhere! Demelza had heard about them, of course, but never herself taken any because of the cost, more than anything.

She watched as groups of girls and boys hurried together into the bathroom, unaware that she lingered at the open door, watching them. 

"Hurry up and key it, then!" 

"Alright, Ruth! Give me a moment, at least!" 

She watched as they keyed lines of a white power on the porcelain top of the large sink counter, cutting the shared equally with none other than a Coutts bank card. Demelza found herself sickened by their indulgence, but not at all jealous of their privilege. Perhaps it was because of the hardships she had already seen in her life, but Demelza found that as long as she had enough to eat and a sanctuary away from her father, she needed for nothing else. 

"You want some?"

Suddenly Demelza's gaze sharpened back into focus, as she realised the Ruth girl was now addressing her. She was one of the group who had seemed flirtatious and inditmaing all night long, causing Demelza's heart to beat little faster. She never did get on well with groups of girls... Perhaps it would be wise to leave... 

And yet, she found herself lingering, fascinated as they each took it in turns to snort a line of powder up their nose. She wrinkled her nose at the sight. It hardly looked a pleasurable experience!

"Oh, no, thank you. I was just..." Again, her instinct to always tell the truth took hold, emphasised by the alcohol flowing through her system. "I've just never seem Class A's before."

The girl looked at her friend with a small laugh, before turning back to Demelza as she sniffed hard. "Was I right in seeing you and Ross Poldark together earlier?" 

Her eager tone made Demelza instantly uneasy, as it was the tone of someone who clearly loved to gossip. Mostly though, Ruth seemed to have one of those voices that haunted you because you could never quite tell if she was sincere or making fun of you in her meaning. 

Demelza flushed and stuttered a nonexistent answer, which was answer enough. The strangers laughed, as though they had been expecting her reply. 

"You best have some then, if I were you," Ruth replied in a matter of fact tone, touching up her hair in the mirror. "I mean – you don't have to, of course. I just know I wouldn't want to be Ross' latest fancy and not be able keep up or something."

Demelza frowned. She hadn't thought of that! She had had it in her mind that tonight would be the night she attempting to move things on between the two of them, both physically and emotionally, as she knew now that should could trust him... and she just god damn craved it. Ruth's words spoke the doubts that lingered in he mind, leaving her suddenly anxious again. What if she had drunk too much already and fell sleepy when they tried it on? Or what if she was just generally too viraginous and nervous to be any good at all? 

She eyed the powder, feeling the tiny, surpassed part of her that longed to be free and wild and indulgent begin to rattle the bars of her cage. 

"Yeah," she conceded self deprecatingly, suddenly feeling a distinct lack of self confidence. "That does sound like me." 

"My cousin was in Ross' year at school, and apparently he used to be on everything at parties." Ruth suddenly gave her a smirk that told of a topic that should have been kept in upmost secrecy. "Apparently he used it to make sex last and last, and by all accounts, it did. Apparently, it's trained him to go for _hours_."

"This stuff's killer for that," the man beside her agreed, his own smile ruthful as she padded his nose. Evidently, he had had chance to experiment with that theory. 

 _Last and last?_ The tiny, niggling voice of self doubt told her that she needed it, as she suddenly found a solution to the reason for her suffocating nerves she had been feeling all evening. A part of her knew it was foolish, to worry for much about sex, but she couldnt help it. She was a virgin in a time when to be a virgin at twenty was a surprise and a hindrance, not an expectation. She longed for the intimacy, but was also terrified by the thought of it. She was inflexible and non athletic, and had issues with anxiety.

In all, sex was not really something Demelza felt she would ever be built for... At least on this stuff, she considered, her nerves wouldn't seize control of her... and she also wouldn't only last five minutes.  

"I mean, I'd just worry so much about being boring to a man like that..." Ruth continued, seeming to speak her thoughts. Something deep in her suppressed subconscious kicked her into action, as she suddenly seized the day and marched over to the counter top. 

"You don't mind?" 

Ruth gave her a smile that Demelza guessed was the most comforting she was capable of – which wasn't much – before keying her a line with the card in her hand. 

"Only a small one, since you've never tried before," she said. Demelza leant over and blocked her nostril, inhaling hard with the other. She felt the bitter taste of the powder in the back of her throat, feeling not at all different as she stood up straight. 

"Here," Ruth siad, handing her tissue to wipe her nose as she motioned for Demelza to leave the room with them. She followed them down the corridor, attempting not to get knocked by the many playful and reckless shenanigans that were happening in the hallways, until they were back the diningroom-turned-dancefloor. Once there, both Demelza and Ruth spotted Ross at the same time, stood smoking cigars at open french doors into the garden. 

Ruth turned to her, her eyes sparkly with mischief that Demelza had seem somewhere before. She was walking away before she spoke again, returning to the large group of girls she seemed to have arrived with, casting the words over her shoulder. 'You have fun with Mr. Poldark now, dear!" 

She made her way to Ross almost instinctively, wrinkling her nose as the strong aroma of cigars wafted past her nose. The men laughed at her expression. 

"They smell awful!" 

Ross' expression was warm as he pulled her into his side, holding the cigar out of her way with a soft apology. She curled her arms around his middle as the three carried on their discussion, something about local politics that went entirely over her head. She leant her head against him for a moment, though she suddenly felt an uncontainable urge to move. Excusing herself, she brushed past the men and ran inside, determined to dance with renewed enthusiasm that left her little more than thrashing and spinning aimlessly. Evidently the powder had kicked in then, she thought. 

* * *

She wasn't sure how long she was high before things began to go south. Having spent a good hour or so dancing like a mad woman and chatting to strangers with not an ounce of shyness or self consciousness, she began feeling haunted by feelings of paranoia. Like ghosts lingering in the shadows, she began to feel as though the groups of girls were staring at her, whispering about her as she would walk past. She also became chronically thirsty, swallowing pint after pint of tap water. 

Ross was preoccupied throughout with his conversations out in the fresh air, and she found herself steering clear of him, perhaps because she was unsure how to interact with him with his friends around. As her high took hold, the small voice in her head that was sensible and sober was aware that she was becoming rabid in her conversation and movements, unable to stay still. 

She figured at some point it would taper off, that she would suddenly feel normal again. What she did not foresee was that echoes of the voice of her sinful father, Tom Carne, would seem to call for her in the distance. Even over the music, she could hear him. She span around, halting her dancing amongst the many moving bodies and felt a icy shiver spread through her veins. 

_"Fight me then, girl!"_

She felt her body respond immediately, as a shudder set into her frame. She span toward the sound, looking for him with fear in her eyes. Caroline, who was dancing beside her, pulled up short instantly at the sight of her friend's expression, frowning into her face. 

"Did you hear that?!" she asked hurriedly, looking over her shoulders. Caroline blinked, trying not to look too confused. 

_"Fight me!"_

"Hear what?!"

Demelza felt her heart begin to race, fear spiking in her blood and settling a sweat on her upper lip. Of _course_ he would haunt her!  _Of course_ she couldn't even get away with him now!

She hurried for more water, pushing uncaringly past every body that stood in her way. Her throat was parched, her lips sticking to her gums with a lack of saliva, as she gulped down as much liquid as she could for relief. 

It seemed to do little, as she felt the ever-increasing feeling of dread take hold of her nerves. Sweat dampened the hair that met the back of her neck and her hairline, as she heaved for breath. 

 _You're okay,_ the tiny sober voice inside her chastised.  _You're okay._

_"Y'are stupid, girl! Useless! Look at ya', lookin' at me all wide-eye!"_

Clamping her eyes shut, she ignored Caroline's questions beside her as she attempted to focus on breathing. Then, her hand came to circle her wrist in concern, causing Demelza to jump back in alarm. The contact felt like a boot, pressed down on her chest, despite the fact it had been light and in concern. A male body beside her attempted to push past, bracing a hand on her back as he did so. The contact sent her jackknifing across the kitchen. 

_"What are ya? A coward?!"_

She couldn't be here. She had to get out. 

"Don't touch me!"

She raced out the room and up the magnificent staircase without a second glance, past the 'no entry' warning for the upstairs rooms, designated for Verity's bedroom. Once there, she threw open the door, feeling heat prickling her skin. The harder she breathed, the harder it became to do so, her mouth and throat so dry so had no saliva left.  With glassy eyes and a whimper of fear, she curled her arms around her head as the cacophony of all her father's abuses circled and echoed inside her head. 

He was here. He was going to see her – dressed like a _slut_ , he'd say; _asking for it,_ he'd say. 

Her skin itched she she rubbed and scratch her hands over herself, suddenly feeling the weight of her father everywhere. "Don't touch me!"

She paced around the room in fear and bewilderment, suddenly feeling completely lost, as though a cloak of desolation had descended, weighing down her shoulders.  

In despair, she began to cry, feeling at though she was utterly foolish to think she could ever be like everyone else, carefree and content and free...  _This is it,_ she thought as she crumpled into the corner of the room, her body shaking with adrenaline, fuelled now by fear.  _This is how my life will always be._

* * *

Time was no concept as she lay crumpled there, a humming, frenzied ball of nerves and unspent energy, until, finally, Ross was beside her. With her arms wrapped around her knees, she rocked back and forth in a trance-like state.

_"Don't touch me. Don't touch me. Don't touch me."_

She didn't realise she had been repeating this mantra until a hand came over her own, sudden and hot. She let backward in surprise, no breath in her lungs, but found that Ross' touch did not make the ghosts worse, as the others had. 

"Ross," she wheezed, blinking hastily to clear her latest tear. She sniffed hard and raised a hand to cover her mouth as a sob forced its way up her throat. 

"Oh, Demelza." His tone was so soft, his round eyes so kind and concerned, she cried even harder. "Tell me what's wrong."

She disintegrated, wilting into the carpet, her hands pressed against her ears. She knew he was going to ask questions, and if he asked she would have no choice but to tell him... and God only knew what he would think of her. She couldn't even think of it. The shame was too much.

"Hey!" Ross's strong hands were around her shoulders, attempting to lift her face from where it was pressed into the floor. "It's okay. Shh!" He hushed his reassurances into her hair. 

"I can't stop hearing him, Ross!" She scrunched up her face at the heckling sounds of her father. "He won't stop," she sobbed. "He's never going to stop."

" _Who_ , Demelza? What are you _talking_ about?"

She tried to formulate the words, feeling them form on her tongue, but hame forced them back down her throat. "I can't, I can't!" she wailed as she lifted her face to him. "I can't tell – not to you!"

He face told of his intense concern, but the sight of it was almost too much for her to bear. 

He'd be disgusted. He wouldn't want her when he knew how pathetic he could be... and then she'd never have him. 

His hands cradled her face by now, as he lowered himself so his eyes were level with herself. Gently, he pressed soft, slow kisses to her furrowed brow, then he wet cheeks. 

"I'm not going anywhere, you silly thing." 

She almost smiled at that, if the cloak hadn't still been suffocatingly shrouding her in a heavy darkness. Ross was almost blinding to look at, a symbol of light and kindness, a devastating contrast from all her demons told her she deserved. 

Shaking, she reached up and clung to his hand, suddenly seeing a slither of light at the end of the tunnel she was currently lost within.

"Everyone leaves me, Ross," she whispered, her body feeling weighed down with such intense melancholy. Suddenly, she had to move, as she leapt to her feet and began pacing again. "Everyone leaves or never arrives at all – 'cept my father... All he does is make me want to run to he ends of the earth to get away – " 

 _Fight me!_ "Ah, Judas!" She pressed her hands back to her ears against the noise, feeling it settle free goosebumps on her arms. "Make him stop!" Suddenly, she was enveloped in warmth, Ross having pulled into in a iron hold. She could only look forward into his face, unable to fidget or even more her arms. His hold was firm, but he face was etched with something much softer. 

"Demelza – you need to listen me, alright?" He pressed a minute kiss to her brow before speaking again. "Can you do that?"

She flinched against the noise her father still made in the echoes around her head. "Yes," she breathed, struggling to focus. 

"What have you taken?"

She felt the shock of his question settle on her shoulders.  _How did he know?!_ she dismayed.  _Ruth must have told him... They must have been laughing at her... What a fool she was._

"I don't know," she whispered, clenching her expression as utterances of her inadequacies, her stupidity, circled her and jibed at her, along with the continuous criticisms of her father." _Fuck –_ I don't know – "

_Y'fucking stupid, girl. Why bother w'university? Y'never be anythin'._

"It..." _No man wi' ever wan' a girl who knows too much... Seen and not heard, that's how woman should be!_ "It was white; powder."

"How do you feel?" he whispered. "You're shaking. How's your energy?"

She stared at his hand, his thumb moving rhythmically over her knuckles, back and forth. She couldn't quite fathom that it was her own hand beneath such acts of tenderness. What did she do to deserve this? 

 _Nothing,_ her demons sneered, deep in the shadows of her consciousness. 

"H-high," she stuttered, her restless hands moving over Ross' where they touched her, unable to stay still. "I feel like I need to run – but – but – he won't stop talking at me –  _hauntin' me – "_

"Sounds as though you have officially been frequented with the fractious wonders of either Speed or coke, love," he murmured confidently, moving to kiss her restless hands. Momentarily, she felt reality shift; her mind's perception back in its rightful place. Suddenly, she could see Ross' face clearly again, inches from her own, his eyes, so brown and deep and warm, surrounded by creases that told of his concern.   _It was all the just the drug..._

"Help me, Ross," she sighed, feeling helpless at her own foolish behaviour, moving to smooth a hand over his face to pull his eyes down to her level. "You know about these things. Please... I'm not going to die, am I?" 

He gave her a soft smile that thawed some of the icy disconnect that had surrounded her. Leaning forward, he planted a flutter of a at the edge of her mouth.

"No, love." The term of endearment left her without breath for a whole new reason. "You're just confused. It happens."

"My father isn't here," she said aloud, though she already knew it to be true. She dropped her forehead to his shoulder in relief. "Thank God, he isn't here!"

Ross let go of her now and silently felt uneasy at this comment, though he knew now was not the time to ask. Instead, he took her into an embrace so sure and welcoming that it anchored her to the light. She felt her body shaking still, but no longer felt the panic or the paranoia. Smiling against the warmth of his throat, she sighed and squeezed his solid middle. "I've just realised something..."

Ross drew back in curiosity, leading her to his cousin's bed before passing her a glass of water from beside it. Where had that come from? 

"What?"

"Well... Whenever everyone else touched me, downstairs, whatever was happening to me got worse. I felt them and it felt like – " She pulled up short, unable to say the words. She wasn't sure she would ever be ready to admit the truth of her father's behaviour, not even to Ross. "But... you're touching me now...and it's making it better?" She looked down at his hands, holding both her own so tenderly in his lap. The sight seemed almost surreal. 

He made a sound of satisfaction and surprise, before leaning to press his lips to her head. Lifting it before he could kiss her there, she felt a magnetic draw toward him, despite her fragile state. Ross was comfort now, he was an anchor – that, and he was intoxicating.

She kissed him with suddenly conviction, hard and sure. Her breath left her in pants, her hands already into his curls and revelling in their silk-like texture. He held into her with equal desperation, his fingers digging into the skin of her back. She felt her breasts now against his chest and had the sudden urge to tear her dress from her body, desperate to feel his skin. 

" _Ross_."

He had only known the very fringes of Demelza Carne's desire, having seen it in the fragile flirtations and intoxicated kisses she had given him that very first night, but this tone was something altogether new.  _This_ was a woman who knew what she wanted... and was anxious to get it. 

Suddenly, they weren't sat upright anymore. So enthusiastic were Demeza's affections that they both ended up lying down on their sides, facing one another on Verity's bed. She kissed him with such enthusiasm and reckless abandon that Ross couldn't help but let a laugh bubble up against her cheek. "Who are you and what have you done with sweet, innocent Demelza?" he chuckled softly, thoroughly enjoying the spark of indignation the comment sparked in her eyes. It earned him a sharp poke to the ribs from the redhead temptress, though her anger was false. 

Suddenly, she looked coy again and Ross felt hot under the collar all over again. "She was never actually very innocent..." she trailed against his prickly cheek before lifting her face enough to claim his lips again. Her hands slipped back into his curls with a breathless sigh, her mind running a mile a minute. She had yearned and fantasised about this moment for _weeks_ , left exhausted by sleepless nights that had been disrupted by incomplete, lustful dreams, and now that it was here... simply put, she was insatiable. Pulling back, she took in his chocolate eyes as they squinted curiously at her. "She was just afraid."

The comment was intended as blasé, but it certainly wasn't inaccurate. Perhaps it was her intoxication, but she felt not a single hint of her usual self consciousness and fear. His hands were a little rough as they tenderly moved to cup her face, but she revelled in the feel of it. She was here and he was _real_. A true, living, breathing man – a devastatingly beautiful one at that – and he wanted her...

It was almost too much to bear. 

"And she's not afraid now?"

His tone was careful; he was evidently paranoid she would change her mind. With a smile, she press a gentle, chaste kiss to his still lips, watching his expression change as she reached for his hand and placing it at the curve of her breast. His pupils were blown wide at the intimate softness beneath his palm, the peak of her nipple tented the fabric beneath his palm. He whispered her name again, but she simply moved forward to kiss his concerns away.

The feeling of heat against her breast that belonged to another left her restless. She lifted her outer leg to hook him closer with her calf over his own.  

"Oh, God," Ross breathed almost silently against her lips, now able to feel all of her softness pressed against him. She raised her chin and he dropped his lips to her throat in response, the scent of her a sweet, floral perfume that lingered there leaving him dizzy with desire. He nipped at the soft skin there, remembering how much she had liked that, and she responded in kind. A wobbling breath left her lips at the pinch of his teeth, her hips surging forward to meet him in a desperate search for friction. She felt suffocatingly hot, pulling away in order to sit up and frantically unzip the side of her dress. Before Ross could even process what she was doing, the emerald fabric was pooled at her hips. 

He gazed with an expression of shock at her pale skin, beautifully milky and unblemished, before him. Moving to a sitting position, his eyes were inevitably drawn toward the swell of her breasts, rising and falling with every breath within the confines of a sweet, white lace bra. His mouth filled with saliva as she hurriedly grabbed him by the neck, giving him no time to catch his breath before their lips were battling again. His lips were insistent now, all hints of his hesitation gone. Suddenly, his hands were everywhere, up her back and her ribcage and threading back her hair. A curl fell between them, trapped between their hurried lips, rousing a giggle from her throat. She tipped back her head to shake them away, opening her eyes to the sight of Ross' wide smiling mouth. The chuckle that left him was so deep and warm it rose a shudder up her spine.

"Not afraid at all," she whispered confidently, just before his strong hands come to cup her breasts, kneading them with delightful strength. Her head fell back with the relief of his hold, the enthusiasm pf his lips as they descended down her throat and past her collarbone. His lips lingered at her cleavage before taking hold of her peaked, aching nipple through the delicate lace. Her knuckles turned white where her fingers held his hair. _"Jesus..._ "

Her thighs squeezed hard instinctively with every ghostly touch, every breath that tickled her delicate, untouched skin, but none of it was enough.

"What a beautiful woman you are," he whispered, nudging his nose against her breast playfully. The compliment rose a blush on her cheeks as her mind filled with self conscious doubt.

"Oh, I don't know about that – " she denied hurriedly, uncomfortable with the compliment. 

" – Hey!" He raised his eyes to her level and she recognised the flint of his resolve. Pressing kisses to both her cheeks, he curled both his arms the entire way around her middle so she couldn't shy away. "You  _are._ "

She sighed against his cheek without words to reply. The kindness of his words left her with an uncomfortable lump in her throat, in the same way that any new experience would. For Demelza, such assertive kindness felt alien.

Suddenly, she craved skin to skin contact in a way she never had before, supposing it was down to wanting to thank him for his kindness, to repay him for giving her  _this._

"Oh, Ross," she breathed as he claimed her mouth powerfully again, his tongue now moving to touch her own. His hands rose at her invitation until they were at the bra clasp at her mid-back. He skilfully unhooked the garment with ease, and Demelza's tried not to consider all the practice he must have had. 

"Ha! Well –  _woah!_ " Suddenly there was commotion in the room as a couple Demelza barely recognised fell through the door, evidently also looking for some privacy. Instantly, Demelza clasped the bra to her chest with both arms and screeched out a protest as she curled herself against the bed. She expected Ross to launch for the door to hurry them out, but instead he was in front of her, using his body to shield their view of her. 

"Get out!" he hollered as they were delayed by drunken stumbles and giggling, firm authority in his voice. " _Twats."_

Demelza found herself suddenly shy and self conscious again, as though the close shav being exposed awoke her true, anxious self whom had been lying dormant until that moment. 

"You okay?" Ross asked softly once the room fell quiet again, the heat gone from his eyes. She nodded mutely, which was sign enough that perhaps she  _wasn't,_ before he sat up straight, evidently uncomfortable. As she sat up too, he leant over and gently refastened her bra, unprompted, with a gentle kiss to her shoulder. She went to apologise but he anticipated her words, silencing her with a kiss. It was evidently intended to be a soft, closing statement, but she held on for dear life, not wanting to say goodbye to the moment of pure bravery and lust she had managed to find within herself. When they drew back for breath, Ross came to rest his forehead against hers, his lips pursed in thought. 

"Shall we get out of here?" 

 

She released a breath she had no idea her lungs had been holding in, aware of the implications of such a question. The tiny voice of reason within her mind screamed that this was a bad idea, that he'd expect full, uninhibited sex from her if she went home with him... But there was also a voice that told her that this was not true, that Ross Poldark would ask of her only what she was able to give. 

"Yes, please," she agreed thankfully, moving to slip her arms back into her dress. He was grinning as he helped her do up the zip and gather her things. Then, like school children, they proceeded to tiptoe in shadows and hid around corners until they reached the back door, knowing that, should any of the guests witness Ross leaving, then they would never get away. 

"Ross? Ross!" Ruth's distant call came from behind them as they slipped into the garden, causing the two to break into a run. "Where are you going?!"

"Quick! Go! Go!" Ross exclaimed with a chuckle at the sight of the girl, leaving Demelza giggling breathlessly. She struggled to keep up at first as they crossed the vast lawn to circle back around to the front of the house, until Ross held out his hand to pull her along. She found herself laughing with the sudden joyous burst of energy, feeling like an mischievous child as they spirited toward Ross' vehicle: a well-used, muddy Land Rover Defender. 

Reaching it, he unlocked the passage door before chasing to his own. Once within the confined space, their laughter and heaves for breath seemed loud to their ears. 

"Should you be driving?" she asked cautiously as she paused in fastening her seatbelt. 

Ross smirked arrogantly as he fastened himself in. "I've only had a glass of wine and a beer."

Demelza rose her eyebrows in surprise and doubt, wondering this highly suspicious. "Ah," she breathed with narrowed eyes, biting back a grin. "I see your game, Ross Poldark."

He burst into laughter at her lack of belief in him, raising his hands in surrender with a look of innocence. "What can I say? I was hopeful!" 

Turning the key, the Defender roared to life, kindling Demelza's excitement and nerves.  _Judas,_ she thought, taking in his striking profile against the backdrop of the radiant of the clear night sky.  _Am I really doing this?_

Looking around her, she studied Ross' car with increasing interest. After all, a man's car was his personal, private space. Expensive looking cigarettes were stashed on the dashboard, with a pair of walking boots discarded on the floor of the back seat. The glovebox was filled with cassettes of all musical genres, but the majority seemed to be bands she did not recognise. As they chatted, she divulged her love for folk music, as much a part of her as a Cornish born as her own blood, and he enthusiastically agreed. On the radio, Morrissey trilled about his misery and a charming man, Demelza thrashed about her hair to the bass and the rhythm. Ross, grumbling about Ruth's overeager treatment of him ever since he met her at the age of sixteen, made her laugh until she cried, his impression of her completely uncanny. 

"I met her properly earlier, actually," she confessed, gazing out the window as the song ended. "It was  _her_  powder."

Ross hooted with laughter in surprise. "Now, why does that not surprise me?" Her turned his eyes to her for a second before looking back to the road, his expression sobering with concern. "Speaking of – how are you feeling now?"

She sat for a moment and surveyed herself. Her mouth was still deathly dry, her hands trembling with unspent energy. She was unable to sit still, though she couldn't pinpoint if this was the drugs... or just the prospect of finally being entirely alone with Ross. Without the presence of strangers, she no longer felt the trail of her ghosts at her back. 

"No voices, now. Still very...wired, though. I'm very aware of how much I'm talking –  _Judas! –_ Is that the drug, too?"

He chuckled, lowly, lifting a hand to clasp her own where it fidgeted and clenched in her lap. "Without doubt," he agreed. "Though, I'm rather enjoying hearing so much of your voice – "

She balked with a unceremonious cackle. " – What?!  _My_ voice? You like  _my_ voice?!" She squeezed his hand enthusiastically and clasped her other hand over her mouth to mask a snort. "You're full of shit, Poldark!"

She suddenly noticed the two cameras in the second glove compartment, one of which she recognised as an expensive Canon lens film camera she had always gazed at lonely in the catelogs. The second was a classic Poldaroid instant camera, ideal for capturing moments immediately. He smiled as she gushed over them, having never had the money to own a camera of her own. 

"I got rather into photography at university," he confessed, softly. He then grinned ruthfully. "My father thought it all utter tripe."

Demelza laughed softly because she wasn't at all surprised, thumbing the lines of the camera tenderly in her hands. "I think it's wonderful, to be able to capture moments forever... Aha of course assuming you're any good." 

He chortled at her teasing, poking her affectionately in the thigh with his free hand. "I'm  _brilliant_ , I'll have you know."

"I'll believe that when I see it," she countered drug with a smirk. "Do you have a muse?" she questioned, cheekily. 

"Not so much these days," he replied with a hint of meloncoly. This chilled Demela's mood a little, as they both knew who his muse had once been. "Though, of late there has been a particular redhead I've been dying to photograph."

This added comment left her aghast all over again, unable to comprehend that he could possibly be speaking of her! Surely not?!

"Y'are a mean tease, Ross Poldark, to say such things – "

"I entirely mean them!" he defended firmly, a soft smirk on his face as they pulled into a long, country lane. "I've told you, I only say that which I mean, and I'm sure you look radiant in photographs."

She rolled her eyes, in complete disagreement with this comment. She chuckled at him as the car pulled up to a charming country house – not nearly the size of Trenwith, but with a delicate and earthy charm. "As I said, y'full of shit."

Cutting the engine, Ross growled as he playfully pulled Demelza to him over the gearstick, not letting her move to open the door. He kissed her with renewed fever, leaving her momentarily helpless. "I promise you, I will never spew any bullshit with you," he vowed as he left her go, enjoying the clumsy way she kept down from the tall car. "And I'd love to photograph you."

Cradling both cameras in her hands, she smirked doubtfully at him in jest, before becoming completely preoccupied with the view of the land that surrounded the house. The sun was not far off rising in the sky now, signally the dawn of a new day, leating her with the distinct feeling that the sun with setting on her old self and rising to open a new chapter. 

"Is that a meadow?!" she questioned excitedly, move around the side of the house go get a better view. 

"Yes – the cornflowers are everywhere at the moment," he replied, holding out his hand toward her as he started down the garden path in the meadow's direction. She handed him the camera, mistaking his holding out his hand for request of the cameras, when in fact, as he laughed and nudged them away, it became clear to her he had been offering her his hand to hold. 

"I'm sorry — " she apologised needlessly, almost like a reflex. "This is still all so new to me – "

Slipping her hand into his, she felt her heart leap as he now laced together their fingers, a whole new form of handholding she had never, ever experienced until that moment. It was much more intimate, somehow, and hinted at a more enthusiast feeling between them, since it was much harder to let go when ones fingers were interlocked with those of another like this. As dawn was near, she could just make out his expression in the shadows, as he walked with a content smile on his face. With the Canon around her neck, she clung to the Polaroid in her other hand, staring down at her feet in a desperate attempt not to trip up. 

They walked in content silence in the meadow, with Demelza giggling softly to herself as she began to break into a skip, unable to suppress her jo.y and every any longer. Ross loosened his hold on her fingers just enough to let her frolick like a child, but still not letting her go. He simply took both cameras from her and allowed her to fulfill her childish desires in peace  

Upon arrival at the meadow, the view took her breath away, as the sun peaked over the distant horizon, lighting the May skies with a breathtaking gradient of inky blues to deep, warm blues and reds. The clouds looked like candy floss as the reflected the majesty of the sky, leaving Demelza feeling almost envious of their effortless beauty. 

"It's tha' beautiful, Ross!" she breathed in awe, gazing at the countless flowers that swayed around them almost at the height of her thighs. 

He was quiet behind her, so she turned to him, only to find the lens of his Canon directed at her. Automatically, she went to bashfully protest, but stopped herself after a beat. It clicked just as she caught sight of it, her hair no doubt a windswept, flying mess about her in the photograph. Still though, she managed to curtail her instinct to shy away  

Elizabeth had been his muse for years, no doubt. The thought displeased her, leaving her wanting nothing more than to prove herself worthy of that role. As childish as it sounded, she wanted him to want her that way, to admire her and cherish her that way. After all, what woman didn't? 

Thus, she fixed her eyes on the lens and gave it the expression she would give to Ross alone. The camera clicked again, but not before she had snatched the Polaroid from his other hand, raising it to her own eye. Circling him until the magnificent sky became his backdrop, she captured him holding the camera to his eye, art melting to capture her. He laughed and rolled his eyes, letting the Canon came to rest against his chest on its strap. 

"You're bonkers," he stated tenderly as she giggled and danced around him until they were in the centre of the vast meadow, surrounded by the delightfully fragrant flowers, shaking the polaroid around her head. 

"I never said I was normal, Ross," she countered with a grin. "Too late now!"

Arching his brows, he threw back his head, pretending to be nettled. "Damn! Well, I suppose that's it, then!" After he took but two steps away from her, she felt her self doubt creep in. She went to halt him, to pull him back, to excuse her weirdness and beg him to stay in spite of it, but her worry was needless. He turned back to her with a grin, evidently only joking, but found a look of worry on her face. "Hey! I was  _joking!"_  He took her into his hold, pushing back her mussed curls as they blew into her face. 

She took in the sight of him, his soft eyes in stark contrast wth the sharp lines of his jaw, and felt her chest tighten. Smoothing hands over the firm plains of his chest, she followed the curves of his strong upper arms with her thumbs, as though inspecting a treasured artefact. He let her hands wonderful, humming in agreement as she smooth two flat palms up his stomach, taut and like iron under her hands and the skintight cotton. 

"This is all so new – " she excused apologetically, self consciously averting her gaze down to her feet. "I'm never sure what to do – what to  _say_  – "

" – Just be  _you!"_ he admonished, holding her at the elbows.

She felt her perpetual fear of inadequacy rear its ugly head. " – But, what if who I am's n't enough?!" 

Ross stood, somewhat uncomprehending for a moment, stumbling over his words as he shook his head in disbelief. How was it that one so sweet and strong could be so unsure? Suddenly, thoughts of her words about her father sprang back to him, leaving him fiercely frustrated. How  _dare_ people tell this beautiful girl she wasn't worthy?

He grasped her hard by the shoulders and attempted to poor all his frustrations and sympathy into the kiss he pressed to her open, breathless mouth, triggering a violent shudder up her spine. 

"Listen to me, you," he murmured lowly, capturing her lower between his teeth for a moment. "Who you are is  _more_ than enough."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do pop over to my tumblr goodgirlwhoshopeful.tumblr.com with any feedback, or just to say hey... or comment here! Whichever floats your boat.... just please do chat away, because I always love to hear from people!


	7. Close Calls II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again - thank you to the wonderful (and sinful) gifs iorwen sent me, this is finally in motion...  
> Hopefully this does the wonderful gifs justice...
> 
> This chapter and further chapter's will start to unpick issues that Demelza doesn't even realise she has, so please be patient with her.... This Demelza is very important to me because it's all about her growing and learning to trust despite her fears about men and her lack of experience... something that I feel we don't see much of in the BBC's adaptation.
> 
> Please let me know what you think... and please ask me any questions should you have any about the issues I've chosen to include in this chapter. 
> 
> (Evidently - I do not own these wondrous character's.... I just borrowed them for this 1990's 'verse. ;)

**"Close Calls"**  

Part II

* * *

* * *

 

_"Listen to me, you," he murmured lowly, capturing her lower between his teeth for a moment. "Who you are is more than enough."_

She felt tears suddenly threaten to spill from her eyes, an aching lump swelling in her throat. His kindness was so alien to her, it was near impossible for her to believe him. Having spent her whole life feeling as though she was never good enough and her entire adolescence feeling as though no man would ever want her, hearing Ross' insistence made it hard to breathe. She so wanted to believe him, but she seemed incapable of it. When she looked at herself, she saw nothing but faults.

She let out a shaky breath and smoothed her hands over him, over his chest and broad shoulders, until she smoothed her palms over his cheeks, smoothing back his curls as they danced around his face. 

"What is it that troubles you so much?" he asked, holding her close enough to share his warmth. "You must know I think you're wonderful." 

"I'm me! How can I ever be... for you?" She wheezed in another breath as her tears nearly broke their banks. "I'm a confused, ridiculous, prudish  _virgin,_ I – " He lunged for her. "Ross! – "

She had been about to self deprecate, yet again, but Ross no longer allowed it, taking her lip in insistent kiss after insistent kiss. She felt her mental barriers wane as she let out a whimpering moan against his lips. His hands were hot and strong, pressing her hard against him until she could feel all of him. So feverish was his hold on her that Demelza felt herself begin to topple sideways. With a squeal, she fell to the soft cushion of the cornflowers, followed by a cascade of giggles as Ross used his strong hold to ease her fall, before falling over her. He kissed all the breath out of her, meaning that when he drew back just enough to catch her gaze, her eyes were hooded with guttural desire. He braced his weight either side of her head on his arms, his body flush against hers, and for a moment they were quiet. 

"Jesus, Demelza! Please don't look at me like that – "

" – What? – What  _look –_?"

" – Like you're asking me to mount you!"

She felt winded by his crude description, unaccustomed to such sexual language – that and she felt cold at the implications of his words. His hesitation left a icy trickle of dread down her spine as she attempted to swallow the hurt his tone caused. "Would that really be so  _bad?"_

He balked at her defensive tone, evidently not having intended for his words to hurt her. He shook his head hurriedly, curls flying about his face with the motion. "No, no!  _God,_ no!" He cooed at her as they remained eye to eye, evidently endeared by her assumption. "Shit, Demelza, don't you get it?" Her chest was heaving, flush against his, as his eyes became like molten rock. "There's nothing I want more..." Suddenly, she was all too aware of his hips against her own, pinning her into the ground, the bulge in his sky-blue jeans pressing into her stomach. Never had she been faced with true, masculine desire before this moment and it left her feeling flushed and intoxicated. "But I can't do that to you – not here. What kind of man would I be?"

Gazing up at the amber sky, Demelza sighed, knowing he was entirely right, though the ache deep in her loins screamed otherwise. "That's a kind thought," she whispered. "You're right, o'course." She tried to steady her breathing, but was unable to take her focus from the evidence of his attraction pressed against her. She leant up to nudge his nose with hers, dropping a minuscule kiss to the corner of his mouth. Above her, Ross' eyes rose and fell as they attempted to read her expression. "I wish y'weren't, though," she confessed with a surge of courage, moving her hand to hold his face. Her thudding heart urged her to let go, to let him in – and  _inside her_ – though, as usual, her errant fears haunted her, whispering worse case scenarios in her ear. " _Ross_..." she drawled suddenly, like a child broaching the one subject they know their parent might reject.

"Yes,  _Demelza_?"

"Just because we can't...well..." she struggled. "Surely, it doesn't mean we couldn't...try... _other_ things _..."_  She rose her eyes to his, gazing at him from under her lashes with as much allure as she could muster. " _R_ _ight?"_  

Ross is uncharacteristically silent as his adams apple bobs in his throat. Suddenly, his chest heaves with equal breathlessness as her own. His groaned quietly, involuntary pressing his hips forward into hers. His eyes rose just enough to convey the last of his feelings of responsibility. "Demelza – you don't have to – "

She pushed forward and kissed him with all she had, absolving any guilt he may feel with the heat of her desire.

"Please, Ross," she pleaded against his cheek and his jaw as she broke away for breath. " _Please_  teach me to feel." 

His eyes were filled with words unspoken as he hissed a breath, smoothing his hands down her sides and caressing her hipbones. She rose to meet his touch, her own hands wondering over Ross' broad shoulders. He broke away as his lips began their descent down her throat, nipping the skin as he went. Demelza felt as though she was on fire already, unable to do anything but buck her hips as they were pinned against his own into the ground. The friction sent an unexpected surge of pleasure through her nerves, leaving her panting unceremoniously toward the sky. Against her collarbone, Ross let out a dark laugh. 

"Eager, aren't we?"

She ground he teeth in frustration as he pushed his hips harder, leaving her without the room to move at all. "You would be to if you'd never been t-touched," she stammered as a hand suddenly caressed her cotton-clad naval, "before."

"Never?" His tone sounded surprised, but his slow, casual movements did not change pace. Pinching her tented nipple through her dress, he revelled in the tiny, breathless noise she made. "Surely – "

" – if you count masturbation, then yes, of course I have," she snapped impatiently, unhappy with his lack of urgency. She had answered such questions thousand times and having to relive her abstinent teenage years again on made her more fractious. "But otherwise? No. I told you."

"Jesus..."

Ross movements were suddenly much more definite, as he cursed against her neck. He pressed his hips forward with a vengeance, the crux of which pressing right against the flesh that throbbed between her legs, trapped beneath tights and a dress. She let out a whimper and sought out his curls with her hands, needing something to anchor herself. When he rose his head, the kiss he gave her was all teeth and tongue. She was so distracted by the onslaught of his lips that she did' feel his hand heading south; not until it caressed her crotch underneath her dress. The sensation sent her surging forward, trapping his hand against their bodies as she whimpered against his cheek. She felt the urge to close her eyes, but couldn't bear the idea of missing a single moment with him. 

After all this time, someone wanted her – not just  _someone,_ either.  _Ross Poldark_ did; striking, moral,  _devastatingly_ handsome and kind as he was. He was older, seemingly wiser, had a great deal of experience with women, no doubt,  and get here he was, touching her in the way she had never known... 

In all honesty, she dare not close her eyes for fear of it all being a dream when she opened them again. 

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, the words brushing against her face as their foreheads remained together. "I can't stop looking at you." With his previous patience of a tortoise disintegrating, Ross' had now discounted the barrier of her tights, having pushed past them and rolled them down just enough to slip in his hand.

"Me?" she questioned, breathless and distracted. "Next to you?" With her calves bracketing his hips, she lifted her hips to meet him. "Y'must be jokin' –  _Ah! – "_

His fingers teased her through the barrier of her cotton underwear, she could do little other than bite down on the skin of his throat in anticipation. He made a deep, sound of appreciation form the base of his throat as he caresses became more pressured manipulations. She wanted to thrash out of desire for him to hurry, to get on with it and finally give her would she had been dreaming of, but his weight kept her still.

"Ross," she whimpered, unable to take it. " _Please – "_

The grin he gave her was criminal as suddenly his weight was gone. "Please, you say?" He manically kissed a trail down her front, down over her naval and hips, pushing up her dress as he went. As she lifted her head, he was stripping her errant tights away, the sight of him between her legs sending her into a sort of trance. As he looked up, her knickers now on show for the world to see, his eyes were near black with a feral lust she had not seem in him before. Her chest seized. "Since you asked so nicely..."

Within an instant, his mouth was over her, sucking hard between her thighs through her already-damp cotton underwear. The euphoria began to simmer already deep inside her, as her most imitate nerves and muscles came to life with an enthusiasm they never had before. If she was honest with herself, it frightened her somewhat, to know she was already so close to oblivion in front of another person for the first time. For that reason, she found herself almost fighting against it. Fisting handfuls of flowers and stems either side of her, she threw back her head and clenched her eyes shut, her inner monologue beginning to scream doubts as it always did. 

Her thighs were already trembling under Ross carnal manipulations, his tongue and teeth being utilised with the upmost skill. Her hips bucked of their own accord under his touch as she ground her teeth to keep the sounds that were rising in her throat from meeting the open air. Ross must have felt the tension in her frame. He had her open thighs pressed against the ground and paused only to whisper against her inner thigh.

"No need to hold back, baby," he purred, his thumbs smoothing tenderly over the skin of her thigh. "No one can hear you – "

" – Judas," she whimpered at the sight of him in such an intimate position, rolling her head back toward the sky. "Ross –  _fuck –_  I don't think I can take it – s'too much! – "

She could feel her entire body being wound like a spring, a feeling so very alien at the hand of someone else that a slither of fear still left a chill on her neck. The sensations he was eliciting from her were already so intense, so all-consuming, that they frightened her. Still though, Ross pushed on, reaching to retrieve her hands from where they clenched the grass and entwining their fingers together. With a fierce squeeze of her fingers, he went back to his manipulations with a vengeance. 

"Let go, sweet girl," he murmured with another flick of his tongue. 

Her calves loosely linked over his shoulders as she unapologetically submitted to the sensations he was giving her. She was wound so tight she knew she was all but seconds from release, a whine escaping her mouth as she wheezed loudly, unable to breath. With her chin tilted toward the skin, she gazed unseeing at the astounding, colourful sunrise and felt all of her conscious thoughts and capacity for such thoughts slip away. 

With a nip of his teeth and continuous fierce pulls from his mouth, she felt her quivering thighs seize as her hips bucked into his face. The pleasure tore through her nerves and pulled her facial muscles into a grimace, rousing a fierce, unhindered wail from the back of her throat. Her mouth hung open for breath that wouldn't come, her lungs seemed paralysed. She felt the pleasure trigger an unavoidable sob up her throat, though there was only a single tear in her eye. Her body convulsed erratically as the reminence of the pleasure lingered within her with the power of an electrical current. Twitching, she realised one of her hands had been pulling his hair. Apologetically, she smoothed it down as he lifted his head.

"Holy fucking shit," she whimpered with a giggle as Ross pecked departing kisses to her thighs. Rising from his intimate position, his face was a picture of unhindered smug satisfaction.

"Tell me about it," he replied as he leant down to kiss her. She could taste the hint of the fruits of her arousal on his lips and it left her feeling hot with the sinful delight of it. She could feel the tremor in his frame and was suddenly enlightened to the fact that he must be in agony. She trembled under him, nuzzling her nose in the crook of his neck. 

"Ross," she breathed, still catching her breath. "Y'criminal, knowing how to touch women like that!"

He barked out a single chuckle as he returned to bracing himself just above her. His stubble tickled her skin and left her squirming. 

" _You're_  criminal, looking as spellbinding as you do," he countered smoothly, throughly enjoying the flush his words brought up on her cheeks. Spontaneously, he reached over and picked up the cameras that he been discarded to their side. Bringing the canon to his eye, she giggled and covered her face. 

"Ross!" she protested shyly, catching her lip between her teeth. "Don't – I'll look a right ragamuffin!" The camera clicked anyway, then again, so she dropped her hand and looked up past the lens and focused on the man who held it. 

"I'm sorry but I simply  _have_ to," he excused, softly. "Having just witnessed you lose yourself, I think I may have found my muse."

His statement left her winded, as it was a great a promise of exclusively as any – though she barely dared imagine such an outcome. Reaching up, she took the camera by the lens and aimed it back at him with a smirk. The look he gave the camera made her pulse hammer, knowing it was a look meant just for her. The wondrous sky was now a pale blue with the waking of the new day and she could see all of his face, freckles, long lashes and all. As though hinting at the arrival of the day, Demelza felt her body shudder against a gust of wind. Ross instantly moved in closer to share his warmth, leaving her trembling for a whole different reason.

"You're cold – I'm sorry – I should have thought. Not everyone is as warm blooded as me," he acknowledged, kindly, pushing his curls back from his face. She itched to touch him, now, to repay him for his kindness... and the pleasure he had just bestowed. As though he knew, his eyes settled on her, smiling down over her and lighting a fire in her blood all over again. "Shall we head inside?"

As they sat up to do so, it did not skip her notice Ross moved with a fierce grimace on his face when he thought she had turned away. 

"Oh, Ross!" she sighed in exasperation. "Won't you let me– ?" 

" – No, no, no," he denied gently, painting a calm smile on his face. "I'll be alright in a minute." 

She felt guilt swamp her gut as he breathed heavy, the extent of his arousal clearly hurting him. 

"But,  _Ross!_  – "

" –  _Demelza_! Please! You owe me nothing!" 

They stared one another down for a moment, the face off making Demelza feel lost and silently self conscious. Clearing her throat, she collected her boots and tights and stood up, making her way back towards the house. She heard him calling after her, so slowed her walking, but didn't stop. 

Before long, he was beside her, panting. 

"Look, Demelza – I handled that utterly  _shit – "_

"Do you not  _want_  me? Is that it?" she interjected hotly, attempting to conceal her hurt under a brave face. 

"No!  _God_ no!" 

"Then I don't understand!" She cleared her throat again, suddenly intent on not becoming visibly upset. She was  _done_ being a slave to her tears.

They were still walking, mostly because she couldn't  look at him, so to halt her he moved to stand in her way. Her hands came to brace his firm middle as she almost fell, the heat and power of his frame suddenly occurring to her all over again. His hair was a crazed halo around his head, frizzed and mussed. His eyes were round with sincerity as he spoke. 

"Right now? This? It's not about me!" Kissing her forehead tenderly, he pulled back with a shy smile. He then handed her the polaroid she had taken of him, which she must have left behind in the meadow, which warmth her heart a little. "It's about you. You've had twenty years, by your own admission, of not being touched the way you deserve to be. Why would I claim pleasure when it's  _so_ much more of a turn on to give it a beautiful woman who has long deserved it?"

She frowned for a long while in disbelief, uncomprehending that any man could be so thoughtful. He pulled her along toward the house regardless of her quiet. Once inside, Demelza felt a slight guard begin to rise within her again, as she was in his home, his familiar setting, and she felt out of place within it. Portraits of his mother and father hung in the drawing room – she barely even knew what a 'drawing room' was! – and there was antique furniture everywhere. He offered her some water, which she gladly gulped back before wondering up the stairs of her own accord. It didn't take long before she found Ross' bedroom. Evidence of his youth was evident everywhere, but no more than here, with band posters and flyers covering an entire notice board. Across the other side of the large room, though, was a sign of him matured self, as an entire wall was covered in negatives and photographs, below which was a shelf filled with camera parts and equipment. She walked into the centre of the room and gazed over it all as it suddenly dawned on her that what she was witnessing was all that Ross  _was._ This room, this  _one_  house, had seen his entire life. 

A photograph on the old, unused fireplace mantle caught her eye; a beautiful, dark haired woman, with round, kind hazel eyes and a delightfully 1970's style to her long curls. Demelza did not have to ask to know who this was; she was so  _unmistakably_  Ross. 

"What was her name?" she murmured, finding herself unable to look away from the black and white, smiling face. 

"Grace." His reply was low and soft, as though it were a sacred word and Demelza instantly felt an emotion as heavy as lead well up inside her. 

"No wonder you're so beautiful – with a mother like that," she replied, to herself more than anything. He was quiet behind her until she turned to face him. She was greeted by the sight of a slightly melancholy expression, but mostly a wistful one. 

"She was wonderful..." He swallowed, his thoughts evidently upsetting to him. "She died of leukaemia. Since, we've had a foundation in her name that supports sufferers and their families," he informed neutrally, stepping to take her hand. He paused for a moment, a new thought evidently crossing his mind. Suddenly, his eyes were no longer swimming with such grave sadness. "I get invited to all these events by other charities in representation. The next one's next weekend, a swanky one, in London." Suddenly, his expression was almost shy. He went to speak but no words came, then dropped his eyes. 

"What?" she prompted softly, moving close enough to feel him deep breathing brush her face. 

"Will you come with me? I used to take Elizabeth – or Francis," he hurried, " – at worst, I'd drag my father... but now – "

She clenched her eyes shut as her heart swelled in sympathy. Not only had the poor man not got his mother with him, but she died after a no-doubt long and painful battle – and he seemed to have not enough family left for any of them to ever truly be there for him. Deeply upset by the idea that Ross should ever feel alone, he interrupted with the only response possible: " – Yes, Ross." Dropping her head to his shoulder, she sought out his hand. " _O'course_ I'll come."

The smile he gave her was a small, understated expression – a modest, bashful one that was rare for a man with Ross' usual confidence. He nodded slightly, blinking away what Demelza was sure was moisture in his eyes. As if on queue, Demelza yawned and any tension of melancholy was broken. 

"Would you like a shower or anything?" he asked, moving past her towards his chest of drawers. "We should probably try to sleep soon."

 _Not before I touch you, I'm not,_ she thought with a smirk at his back. 

"P'raps it would be wise to freshen up." Leading her to the anointing bathroom, he handed her a towel and a robe. Thanking him, she was suddenly shy again. As he closed the door behind him, she took, dumbstruck, for a long minute, contemplating all that had occurred. Her thighs twitched at the memory already, and she had to hold the basin to keep herself from swaying on her feet. Ross Poldark had her hook, line and sinker, without a doubt and she was only beginning to realise quite how doomed that might make her. 

As she hastily showered, she couldn't help but think of the strength of his body; the way his muscles rippled beneath his shirt; the skill of his mouth against her most sensitive flesh. He was a truly powerful man in her eyes, one whom, no matter how kindhearted, left her feeling severely inferior simply by  _being._ She would never hold it against him, of course, but it was a fact all the same. Ross was in a league high above anything Demelza was capable of maintaining and, as she smoothed his posh London shampoo into her hair attempted to ignore the throb deep between her thighs,  _boy,_ did she know it. 

When she made her way back into Ross' bedroom clad in nothing but the robe and a pair of knickers, she had already given herself a thorough mental pep talk in the mirror.  _You can do this. Just seize the day. Just do it! Everyone else does it! Why do you have to make things so complicated? Sex is not complicated!_

Except, she considered as she tiptoed back into the room, sex  _was_ complicated – most people just buried their heads in the sand in regards to the fact. After all, sex meant revealing one's upmost vulnerability, physically without clothing, but also mentally, without barriers... 

No, she decided as she gazed at her bag of clothes, kindly placed by Ross outside the bathroom door for her. Sex would always be complicated, because she could never hope to come out the other side without strings attached.

As it was, she was not yet sure enough of Ross' feelings toward her to make such an entanglement, because to do so would surely ruin her. Yes, she knew by now that he liked her company, that he wanted her body, but... beyond that? She was yet collect enough evidence for either outcome. 

She mulled over whether to change as she listened to the sound of another shower running down the hall. On one hand, she could put on the pyjamas she had brought with her in mind for a sleepover with Verity, but they were cotton and pathetic... not exactly sexy. She paused and listed to the distant sound of the water, unable to help but picture Ross under the stream, hot and powerful and  _gloriously_ naked. 

 _No_ , she decided, fidgeting in her lust.  _No pyjamas._

The silk robe she wore was evidently Ross' own, as it drowned her in it's length and sleeve size. As she perched on his soft double bed, her eyes were inevitably drawn back to the wall of negatives across from her. There were many Cornish landscapes and wildlife, but for the most part, there were faces. She recognised Verity instantly, laughing into the lens, and Dwight too, with his guitar, balancing a beer on his head. Walking towards the wall, she gazed over the expressions, pleased to see such happiness. Suddenly, as she went to walk away, another photograph caught her eye, on the floor as though it had fallen behind the shelf and cabinet. Kneeling down, she went to pull it out and instantly wished she had not, for what faced her was the utterly breathtaking portrait of a young woman, draped over black cloth in a expressionist manner, her nude body almost unbelievable in its lithe nature, the softness of her breasts and thighs and complete toned flatness of her stomach leaving Demelza feeling utterly second rate.

Everything about the moment captured was sickeningly intimate, as her eyes were closed in an apparent intense lovers pose, leaving no doubt in Demelza's mind as to who the young woman was. She was brunette, poised, delicate... undeniably alluring.  _This_ was Elizabeth. 

At the sound of footsteps, Demelza hurried placed it back where it had fallen, hurrying back into the bathroom. Pulling the door closed but leaving a tiny crack, she peeked as Ross re-entered the bedroom clad simply in pyjama bottoms, towel drying his long hair as he walked. At the sight of his bare skin, she felt her mouth dry. His skin was golden with a slight tan and it was clear that he frequented the gym as his pectorals stood defined out from his chest. Most tantalising, though, was the dark chest hair that was smattered across his sternum before narrowing into a dark trail down his flat, toned stomach. The pyjama bottoms hung low on his hips, showcasing the deep 'V' of his defined abdomen – so low that she could almost see the intimate destination that meet the end the dark hair trail...

He hummed to himself as he dried his hair, casually tidying his room as he watched for her. She felt her heart hammering a hundred miles a minute. As he turned his back, Demelza took the opportunity to slip from the bathroom, making her presence known. He smiled at her, evidently amused by the sight of her in his robe. 

"It drowns you!" he laughed. 

Leaping at the chance, Demelza took a deep breath, fixed her gaze on his from underneath her lashes, and bit the bullet. 

"Oh," she sighed, nonchalantly, as though she had not yet noticed. "So it does."  _Channel your inner Caroline,_ she chanted to herself in the hope she would hold her nerve. "P'raps I should just...  _take it off_ , then?"

She shrugged with a look of innocence, which was incredibly hard to maintain as she watched his reaction; his throat bob and his chest begin to heave. "Um, yes – I, er – " For once, Ross had lost his cool and it left her feeling thoroughly reassured. "If you want."

She smirked at his look of utter helplessness as she stalked towards him. He rose his chin, evidently hoping to regain some form of control, but they both felt the shift.  _She_ was in charge now. "What I  _want,_ " she purred, cornering him against the edge of the bed without even touching him as she toyed with the ties of the robe, "is to touch  _you._ "

He rose his eyebrows at her, incredulous at her sudden bravery, but moved backward to sit on the bed regardless.

"Do you now?" he countered, smirking at her sudden audacity.

She pressed her lips to his in a fleeting kiss, that left him leaning forward to chase her lips as they parted. Arrogant with her power, she pushed him back by the chest with a slow shake of the head, crawling onto the bed after him while being careful to keep her robe closed.

"Close your eyes," she ordered softly. He gave her a look of confusion. "I don't want you looking at me while I'm looking at you," she whispered, bashfully. "It'll make me nervous."

His eyes suddenly illuminated with an air of understanding, for which she was incredibly grateful. He did as he was told with a hushed chuckle. "Alright, love – "

" – No peeking!" she warned, taking a silent, deep breath. He pursed his lips and held up his little finger in offer of a 'pinkie swear', which was gladly received, though she also gawped at the size of his supposed 'little finger'.

"Your little finger's huge!"

Eyes still closed, Ross suppressed a deep, devious laugh. "Well, you know what they say: 'Big hands, big – '"

"' –  _Feet.' Yes_ , I'm aware," she finished for him sarcastically, grinning ear to ear down at him. 

With care, she crawled over him until she was straddling his hips with her knees, letting her eyes feast on the expanse of his flesh before her. Her hand lowered to caress his chest, threading through the chest hair and marvelling in its fine, soft texture. Beneath her touch, Ross smiled. 

"I'm quite hairy," he excused, cheekily, knowing, no-doubt, that such a comment would strike up deeply inappropriate images in her mind and cause her to blush heavily – which it did. Leaning down, she giggled against the skin of his breastbone, unable to resist leaving a trail of kisses there already. "It's a good job I have a weakness for hairy men, then, isn't it?"

A deep growl rumbled from his chest; a primal, possessive sound. "'Men'?" 

Simpering against his skin, she chortled to herself, silently thrilled by his reaction. "Okay," she conceded. "One man."

Her hands wondered over the firm expanse of his stomach as she found herself astounded by the strength in it. Following the dark trail all the way from it's top to where it disappeared underneath his pyjamas, the heat of his skin left her fingertips tingling. Suddenly she craved to feel the heat of him, all over her. She silently untied her robe and let it pool over his legs. With a final deep breath, she lowered herself over against him, pressing her bare chest against his and settling her face against his throat.

The moment Ross felt her skin press against his own, he released a long, drawn out hum – one that almost resembled a sound of relief. 

" _This,_ " she breathed. " _This_ is what I want."

The softness of his chest hair was a welcome new sensation against her skin; one that left her wishing she was ready for more. Ross circled her back with his arms and squeezed her hard against him, sighing contently into her ear. 

"Mm – you feel like velvet," he mumbled sleepily, drawing yet another smile from her as she settled against him. 

They lay like this for a while, enjoying one another's warmth and the sensation of finally being skin to skin. It didn't escape Demelza's notice that he had not tried to pull back and leer at her nakedness, as she half expected. Instead, he was enjoying simply being with her, which left her with a dangerous amount of hope in her heart.  _Perhaps, just_ perhaps _,_ _her first instinct about Ross Poldark being different from other men had been the right one..._

His hands slowly began to trace burning circles on her back and sides with slightly calloused fingers, awakening Demelza from her slumber-like trace. Her worries began to whisper to her again. 

 _You know what he wants now, don't you?_   _He's expecting you to be ready, to give him everything... but you're not ready. You know you're not. You're teasing him. It's unfair to him..._

"Ross?" she hurriedly enquired against his throat. Her body must have become stiff as a board because his hands halted their burning patterns, coming to rest against the middle of her spine. "I know that I started this – but – well, I'm not sure I'm ready for – "

Cautiously, he lifted his hands from touching her and shifted his eyes from looking up at the ceiling over her shoulder to looking down into her face, a reassuring smile on his face. " – It's  _alright_ , Demelza." He then cooed her, smoothing back her hair. "Look at you – so frightened. Love, I'm not a monster – I can control myself!" He pressed a kiss to her brow, over and over. "I told you – this isn't about me. We can wait."

She drew back, sitting up with a guilt conscience and an equally guilty expression. Folding her hands over her breasts, she swallowed back tears that suddenly appeared in her throat out of pure frustration at herself... and shame for her continued insecurities. "I know – I just feel so ridiculous – " 

" –  _Ridiculous?_ Why should you feel  _ridiculous?"_ He sat up instantly and bracketed her back with his hands, bringing her to straddle his lap as he cupped her face in both hands. "Demelza – being inexperienced is nothing to be ashamed of. If anything, we should celebrate it! Virginity can be a hindrance to pleasure, yes, but you can't let fear rule you – "

" – You don't think I  _know_ that?!" A deep frown creased her forehead as shook her head wildly, gesturing against his chest. "You think I'm  _choosing_ to feel this way _?"_ She swallowed desperately to keep her emotions at bay, though could hear her own voice beginning to crack. "You think I've spent my whole life  _afraid_ of men, hiding from any form of flirting and having a voice panic inside my head whenever men touch me... by  _choice?"_  She had her eyes closed now, the shame of her reality too much to face. "I mean,  _Judas,_ Ross! I'm basically  _naked_  on top of the most  _wonderful_ ,  _mind-blowingly_ attractive human being I have  _ever_ met – a man who actually  _wants_ _me –_ and it's  _still_ happening!" With a shuddering breath, she found her words. "It  _does_ rule me, Ross... and I don't know how to make it stop." 

She had never admitted such a thing aloud before; having never even admitted she may actually have a problem even in coherent thoughts. She had always simply waved off her own concerns as paranoia, as her simple being a little shy; that she was just too worrisome and sensitive for her own good. However, after meeting Ross, she realised how that her perspective had begun to shift.

Despite the fact she craved Ross and his touch as any woman would... she still felt a undeniable panic in her throat at the thought of allowing herself to become completely vulnerable with him. 

She knew why she was this way, too and she  _hated_ her father for it. His ill-treatment of her her whole life had left her confidence shattered, her ability to trust any man's words practically diminished. She had witnessed him smile in the face of his women, of strangers in the street, of social workers, but then corner her in the kitchen with his fists after he'd come home drunk that very same day.

Her father had forced her into a state of isolation, for if you hold no standards, you can never be disappointed. 

"I had no idea," Ross whispered in apology. His eyes were soft with sympathy under her confession; both of them felt the gravity of it in the air. Picking up the robe, he positioned it over her shoulders respectfully. "I want to help you. Will you let me help?"

Neither of them acknowledged the unshed tears that shined in Demelza's eyes at his solemn promise. She nodded gently in gratitude.

"Tell me how," he pressed, helplessly, smoothing his hands repeatedly over her slender face. "I hate to think of you like this."

Her searching eyes scanned over his face and she mentally flailed for an answer to give him, for she had none. "I don't know. It comes and goes. I'm alright until I think about – going al the way – and I just feel myself –  _freeze_  – " 

"Well, then... When we move... it must be you." Abruptly, Ross held out his hands, flat for her to take. "All the power is with you." For a moment, she stared at them, unsure of what he intended. Therefore, he took her hand and curled it loosely around his wrist before motioning for her to do the same with the other, effectively giving her the power of his movement. "You move, I move."

With a sniff, Demelza managed a full smile and cupped his jaw to claim a grateful kiss, liking this idea. Ross smiled against her lips, cuddling her close as she remained seated on his thighs. The scent of his skin made her mouth water, so delightfully fresh and clean after his shower, as she let her hands slip into the array of damp curls about his head. Suddenly, she became aware of the softness of his cheek under her hand and pulled back in realisation. 

"You've shaved!" she gushed, caressing his cheeks with renewed enthusiasm. He smiled, the velvet like clean-shaven skin moving under her hands. "I was  _tha'_ distracted, I didn't even notice!" 

He nuzzled his cheek against her hand, rousing another giggle. "I noticed earlier that the beard was chaffing you, so..." 

"Y'so kind," she simpered under the sentiment of the gesture, though a part of her dismayed as she pouted cutely. "But I'll miss the scruff..."

He rose his eyebrows in surprise, tracing the line of her plump bottom lip with his thumb. "You like scruff, huh?"

Feeling her comfort returning, Demelza's hooked gaze teased him as rose her chin in nonchalance, slipping the silky robe from one shoulder. "P'raps..."

Ross eyes darkened at the newly exposed skin, leaning forward to kiss it. The two regarded one another a moment before Demelza spoke in a low, enticing tone. Glancing down at her own bare shoulder, she gazed over Ross' bronzed chest, her lip between her teeth. "Your move, Poldark," she simpered. 

With hesitation, he reached smooth his thumb over the other shoulder the remained covered by the silk of the robe. His eyes rose to hers in a silent question, which was merely answered by the simple smile she gave. Her heart hammered as his fingers slipped the silk from it's place.

For a moment, she continued to hold the silk against her bare breasts while she inwardly consulted herself to quiet her inhibitions. Looking up, she was reassured by the fact that Ross' intense eyes were on her face and not leering in anticipation of her nakedness.

 _You see!_ the angel on her shoulder, her inner optimist, cried.  _He_ is  _good!_

Leaning forward, she kissed him as she slowly let the robe go. Ross' smile against her lips made her smile too, their kiss suddenly a clash of teeth. 

"Your move," she breathed as she pulled away enough to catch her breath, her head swimming. Between him, her peaked nipples brushed his chest, the dark hair on his torso making them tingle with sensitivity. His hands had crept to hold the weight of them in his hands, the heat of his palms leaving her squirming in his lap. 

He winced under her fidgeting, causing her to freeze guiltily. However, after a pause, she smirked as she was filled with a saucy idea. Trailing her lips down the column of his throat, she pushed him to lie back again. Her hand had already made its way to the boundary of his pyjamas and she could feel the tremble of his body under her hand. Once her face was in line with the elastic boundary, she felt her anxiety begin to speed her heart again. 

"You don't have to, Demelza," he assured softly, reaching to stroke her hair. "I told you – "

" – But I want to," she sighed frustratedly. "S'not fair on you – "

"You're uncomfortable," he whispered. "There's no need to make yourself anxious to please me – if anything, it would do the opposite."

Demelza felt guilt settle in her chest and across her shoulders, not only because she could not return the pleasure he had given her... but also because she was swamped with relief at being excused. Truthfully, she knew she was giving into cowardice. She deeply feared her own inadequacy, having never touched a man before. 

"Hey," he murmurs, calling for her attention. "I mean it."

"But you made me feel so  _– so_ good – " she sighed, shivering with the memory of his manipulations. Kissing his stomach, the muscles rippled under her touch. "I want to see you feel good," she whispered, longingly. 

Ross had his eyes clenched shut at her proximity to his erection, evidently using all his willpower to remain restrained. With a wondering hand, she brushed him through the cotton of the bottoms, rousing an involuntary squark from his throat. 

"Sorry!" she squeaked, moving her hand away instantly as though she'd been burned. "I'm sorry!" she dismayed. "Judas – what _am_ I?"

Ross sighed and reached down to pull her up to him, having her straddling his hips again. Face to face, they faced their dilemma together. 

"I want to touch you," she whispered earnestly, her cheeks hot with shame. "But I've never – I don't know how – "

With his lips against her cheek, Ross gave her a look that told of his calm aura and maturity. He seemed to search her eyes for a long moment to make sure of her decision. She felt him slowly take her hands in his and smooth them down to the waistband of his bottoms. Hers were wide with anxious curiosity, so he paused one last time. 

"Do you trust me?"

She scoffed and burrowed into his neck. "As if y'need to ask!"

With a deep breath, she felt him pushed down the elastic of his bottoms with her hands under his. As her breathing quailed against his throat, he tutored her hands in their movements, taking his pulsing erection in her fist. She felt his body tremble under the strength of his arousal, the texture of him reminding her of velvet encased iron. 

"Like this," he instructed shakily, breathing through gritted teeth as he covered her fist with his, moving their united hold over up and down. Her touch was so hesitant, so innocent, it alone was almost enough to drive him over the edge. 

Demelza inwardly tormented herself with indecision, as she hid her face against Ross' neck. Part of her wanted to sit back and look at him as she touched him so intimately, but her self consciousness left her hiding. Instead, she focused on the texture of him under her hand and the look of bliss that left his jaw slack in her line of sight. She sucked sensitive skin below his ear into her mouth, pinching the skin between her teeth and drawing a rumble of approval from his chest. 

"I know I'm not good at being clear w'my thoughts," she whispered, thriving on the heavy breathing in her ear as he moved her hand over his erection with increasing speed. "But _Judas,_ Ross – y'drive me _crazy._ " He turned his head to capture her mouth eagerly, his hips rising slightly under their manipulations. He tutored her thumb to flick over the tip of him, which drew out an enticing mewl from his mouth. She watched as his eyes became hooded, fixed on her face as he trapped his bottom lip between his teeth as he evidently attempted to quash the groans that began blooming from deep in his chest.  She rose up enough to free her other hand from where it braced her weight by his head, rolling her own nipple between finger and thumb to try and relieve the tension building in her belly. 

 _"Shit,"_ he hissed at the sight of her touching herself, pulling her down with his free hand until their forehead were pressed together. She began to take initiative in her movements over him, feeling him begin to struggle with control as he rose to press desperate kisses across her face. With every groan, every hiss, Demeza felt the sounds he made trigger tugs of desire deep in her abdomen. She was equally shuddering with desire by now, her breathing coming in pants almost as feverish as Ross'. She ground herself against him upon instinct, now desperate for friction to alleviate their simultaneous need for release.  

Suddenly unable to keep himself reigned in, Ross retracted his hand and gripped her hips, grinding her knicker-clad crotch against his raging erection. Clutching  a handful of his curls, she mewled against his mouth. Her hips bucked of their own accord, the friction of the cotton against his hot, pulsing skin leaving her a jarred, trembling mess. Sitting up completely, she straightened her spine and ground against him, self consciousness temporarily having evaporated, throwing back her head as a jolt of white-hot pleasure spiked through her. Bracing herself on his chest with flat palms, she rolled her hips again and again until her movements were frenzied and unconsidered. 

Part of her screamed to rid herself of the thin cotton barrier that lay between her and his nakedness, but she didn't trust herself not to take their interactions further than she was ready for in the heat of the moment. 

Beneath her, Ross chest heaved and his jaw locked as he held her hips in painfully tight hands. Cursing, he growled and threw back his head, evidently close to the edge. She took in the sight of him – long, powerful throat bared with euphoria; a crown of dark curls about his head; the dark trail down his stomach meeting a nest of dark curls beneath the waistband, creating delicious friction beneath her – and it enough to send her spirally downward into an abyss of euphoria.  "Ross! _Yes_ – I'm – " Unable to finish, she felt the muscles deep in her abdomen contact as her orgasm ripped through her, leaving her violently surging forward with each continued thrust.

"Fuck! Demelza! _Fuck!_ " Ross gasped, the strangled curse sounding as though it may well hurt his throat later. Rising to a sitting position, he pulled her hips back and forth over himself in a frenzied manner to meet chase his end. Whimpering, she twitched and arched herself into his chest, biting down on the skin of his shoulder to attempt to suppress the squeal that bubbled gutturally from her gut. His great arms squeezed her in a death grip against him as he came, his seed shooting up his stomach as well as her own. He groaned in relief and dropped to the quilt with Demelza flush against him, peppering kisses across her face, causing her to giggle breathlessly. His on laughter followed, deep and mischievous as he rubbed her back in large circles and attempted to catch his breath. 

"Well..." she wheezed, knowing her grin made her look like a maniac. "That was nice."

At her comment, Ross howled with laughter toward the ceiling, having retrieved tissue from the beside table to wipe them both down. " _Nice?"_ Instantly, his fingers launched into an onslaught of tickling at her ribs. She howled instantly, squirming in an attempt to get out of his hold. He then pinned her down with a kiss which instantly subdued her and left her breathless all over again. 

"Much more than nice," she clarified, breathlessly. Sitting up, she bravely looked him in the eye soberly despite her nakedness. The look he gave her her made her feel... _sexy_ , a completely alien feeling.  

Meanwhile, reaching inbetween them, Ross smoothed the pad of his thumb over the peak of her pale-pink nipple. She swallowed any doubt and smiled into his beautiful face.  In that moment, her mind cast back to the photograph of the beautiful, nude Elizabeth that had fallen from Ross' collage wall. She had been so graceful, so ethereal, so undeniably desirable... She found herself wondering if this was the same look he'd given  _her_ when he'd taken that intimate photograph. 

"Ross..." she broached with a shy smile from through her lashes. Within an instant, she had made her decision. Never would she allow her fear to place her as less than Elizabeth. "Did you...mean it...about me being your muse?"


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

**Chapter 8**

_"Sunshine Serenity"_

* * *

 

* * *

 

The effects of Cocaine on Demelza lasted a lot longer than Ross would have predicted. 

"Ross... Did you really mean what you said about me being...your muse?"

But this question surprised him more than anything. 

He had meant it and he'd told her so, only for her to suddenly become very enthusiastic that he photograph her, there and then. She clasped the robe to her chest and looked at him with the most demurring eyes that he couldn't have said no, even if he had wanted to. With a grin, he threw her onto her back against the mattress, capturing the moment of her giggling with her hair fanned out about her head. 

She lay awake long after Ross slipped into an inevitable slumber, as he was unable to maintain their eye contact any longer. She chatted at him as the sun began to rise in the sky, indicating it was well and truly morning. Their post-intimacy conversation became whispered and slow as they lay facing one another, only partially covered by the duvet. Ross struggled to look at her at first, as her position on her side left her milky breasts pressed together between her arms. With his head on the adjacent pillow, he let her chatter wash over him and smiled whimsically as his eyes became too heavy to fight against. 

He hummed along as she conversed, happy to fall asleep to the sound of her Cornish lilt; a beautiful sound of home. 

He had no idea what time it was when he finally fell into slumber, the soft whisper of Demelza's breath over his face deeply relaxing. As he drifted, his mind wondered over the fuelled events of the last few hours, feeling silently smug at the thought that he had finally gotten Demelza to open to him. 

There was much more to her, he knew that. He knew there would be many more huddles ahead before he could consider them out of the woods. After all, she was clearly a deeply delicate individual hidden beneath a masterful protective shell; a shell which she had finally let him peek into through the cracks that had appeared under the effects of whatever Class A she had taken. He had been confused at first, and incredibly surprised, when she had come to display such severe and obvious symptoms of recreational drug use. He had been outside with Dwight when Caroline had found him, fraught with distress at her friend's sudden behaviour.

Ross had been weary of Caroline, despite the fact they had never met before, because he knew full well who she was. She was non-other than Demelza's lesbian lover, or so had been implied. Earlier on in the evening, when she had drawn Demelza in for a kiss in the middle of the dance floor, it had been directly in his line of vision – and most definitely intentionally so. He had drawn Demelza toward him as soon as he could, unable to resist touching his lips to hers for one fleeting moment. Perhaps it had been immaturity sparking in him, or perhaps it had been purely desire. Either way, watching her kiss Caroline had, most indelicately put, sent him solid. He'd had to hold her again, to get the scent of him through his senses again. He'd  _missed_ her. Admitting it was surprisingly easy. He'd wanted her, all those nights alone, sat up in his father's office sorting through his belongings. Her warmth was something he had not experienced since Elizabeth... and even then, that had been different. 

When he'd found Demelza cowered in Verity's bedroom, having been directed as to her hiding place by those she had pushed past on the way, he had felt his chest tighten with worry. Emotional women had never been his strong point – Elizabeth would vouch for that. He had grown to be able to cope with discontent and even rage... but women in tears still seemed to set him into a very unique form of panic. Perhaps it was because he hadn't had his mother to consult on women in his adulthood, or perhaps it was simply how all men felt in such circumstances. Either way, he had tried his best, taking on the pragmatic approach that he could remember his mother using with him as a child, stating as calming and lowly as possible what he was he wanted to convey. 

Fast forward all but three hours and he here he was, laying inches from that same steeled, frightened young woman, now smiling at him intimately and enticingly nude. He had to pinch himself to remind himself the entire scenario hadn't been some kind of cruel, wet dream. (He'd had one too many of those in his time). 

As he slept, he dreamt of flashes of red, fiery hair and snow white skin with tantalising dustings of freckles; of moist, sensitive skin and leaving a delightful warm feeling in his chest. 

When he came to, the sun was streaming through a gap in the curtains, bathing the mid-section of the bed in warmth. Blinking against the force of the light, Ross let out a discontented grumble, knowing already he hd certainly not had enough sleep by the heavy, sticky nature of his eye lids and lashes. He was still, attempting to convince himself he was not yet awake, when he felt the slight movement beside him. Keeping his eyes closed, his senses focused, intruded by what Demelza was up to when she thought he was sleeping. 

In the next moment, a breathless, near-silent whimper met his ears, leaving his scalp prickling. His eyes snapped open at the sound, focussing after a moment on the beauty beside him. She was stretched out inches from his body, her neck arched into the pillow under her head as she had abandoned all covers and blankets. She was still basically nude, bar her underwear, yet she seemed unaffected by the slight chill in the room. It took him a moment or two to realise what it was he was witnessing, as he followed her pale arm, finding that it disappeared into her knickers, moving with a furious speed.

Within an instant, he bit down on his lip to keep from letting out a long groan.

 _Jesus!_ His hands formed tight fists at his sides beneath the duvet in restraint as he felt his body instantly become painfully excited. She was  _touching herself!_

She had her other hand over her mouth, her teeth biting into the skin of her knuckles to attempt to keep her mewls at bay.

He watched her openly now, though he didn't move an inch for fear that she would stop. His jaw fell slack as she arched further against the bed, a slight frown settling on her features. Her chest heaved for breath as she trembled, evidently desperately trying to build her pleasure up enough to lose herself and struggling.

Despite his doubts, and the fact he felt slightly as though he was intruding, he closed the gap between them and leant on his elbow over her. Gently, he brushed her hand away and placed his in it's place. Her eyes snapped open instant, focusing on his face as it hovered inches from hers. He could read surprise and weariness in the whites of her eyes, so he smiled as enticingly as he could. Pushing the material aside, his fingers met the wiring curls there before meeting wet, swollen flesh, his mouth practically salivating at the state of arousal he found there. Neither of them spoke as they intimately breathed one another's air.

She visible arched as he slipped a finger into her flesh, seeking out that one all important spot. As he nudged it, Demelza upper body bucked instinctively, her eyes rolled shut under the haze of the sensation.

“I’m not an expert," she whispered teasingly, puckering her lips to close the gap between them with kisses as light as air, "but I think you should try that again.”

He did as requesting, curling his finger forward again and she arched further toward him with a grateful smile. He lowered his mouth to her bared throat, unable to resist the soft, pale flash as it arched toward him. The skin was musky and fragrant, like the wildflowers in the meadow with a hint of spice and the salt of sweat, as he sunk his teeth into the spot beneath her ear. He felt her reaction to his bite instantly, as her blunt fingers dug into the skin at the top of his spine and the middle of his back. The groan that left her lips this time was in no way attempted to be quieted as she thrust upward against him hand. Sinking in a second finger, he felt her twist and whine, desperately seeking friction. 

But then, her voice came from nowhere, as her hand had slipped to his bottoms, tugging at the pathetically. "I want these off."

He drew back his face to look at her and would have laughed, if it weren't for the impatience and desperation in her eyes. "Off?" he asked, incredulously. 

She tugged and he felt the material begin to reveal his pulsing hard-on _. "Off!"_ He would have felt self conscious, if it weren't for all there was to distract him. Hastily, he pulled the bottoms down with his other hand, still using the other to continuing rousing further mews from her throat. 

By the time she met her end, her posture told of a completely different person from the woman Ross had met all those months ago, who had barely been able to look him in the eye and struggled to take a one word compliment. _This_ woman held him gaze as he touched her, his fingers curling inside her body to hit the spot that he knew would send sparks across her vision, and was unashamed of the fact – if just for a few fleeting moments. Her left hand also now pleasured him between them of her own accord, something he would never have predicted, leaving his breathing somewhere between a wheeze and a growl.

As he curled his fingers inside her one last time, he pressed against the deep location he was looking for while also thumbing her bundle of nerves and watched as she choked in search of oxygen, her bowed frame suddenly rigid as iron. "Ross!" she sobbed into his ear, stifling a cry as it tore from her throat. She tightened violently around his fingers which left him with little to do but roll his own eyes backward in imagination of what that would feel like around his hard on.

Her body twitched continuously as he continued his intimate massage, mewing against his throat. He felt his own body trembling as he watched her, the proximity of his own orgasm leaving him shaking with anticipation and desperate attempts to maintain his self control. In her own peak, she had stopped stoking him and it had left him guttural desperate. Lowering his mouth to her throat again, he slowly rotated his hips toward her still hand. Slowly, he took on the gesture they had implemented the night before, guiding her touch with his own.

As they sped up, he felt Demelza smile wide against the crown of his head. He hummed as he began to fidget for friction and thrived on the cool grip of her hands on him. 

"That's it, lover," she whispered against his temple, evidently mimicking the tone he had used the previous night. It was so alien he almost rose his head, but then she squeezed him and he lost his train of thought completely. Biting down on her breast in attempts to reign himself in and muffle his cries, his hips now rotated involuntarily. Her voice was a low, seductive purr in his ear, like a siren call him to his demise. " _Come_ for me, Ross."

And he did – like _lightening_. 

The pleasure was unlike any sexual experience he could remember – perhaps because it was, or perhaps just because his memory was shocking. Everything with Demelza seemed to come from nowhere and end up consuming hims completely in three seconds flat!

Either way, he was left heaving against the mattress, having rolled his weight off Demelza and onto his back to avoid making too much of a mess. He groaned out loud in gratitude and overwhelming weariness. 

Beside him, there was a soft musical giggle from his side as she shuffled for a tissue to clear them up. Forcing his eyes open again, he drank in the sight of Demelza beside him, so soft and mussed that it took the breath of him. She was shyly smiling at him with her face nuzzled into the edge of his pillow. Her milky skin was completely uncovered now, as she had finally rid herself of her underwear, leaving the curve of her buttocks golden in the streak of the sunlight. Humming with pleasure at the sight, he dragged himself over to her and nuzzled his face against her back. The skin was noticeable warm to the touch – evidently she had been laying in the sun for more than a few moments while he had been sleeping. 

"How long've you been awake?" he slurred, sleepily using her body as a pillow as her hands came to push into his curls. 

"Pretty much the whole time," she replied quietly, not sounding miffed by the fact. As if on cue, she yawned loudly, leaving him smiling anew against her skin as she turned over, his pillow now her stomach. "Sleep currently hates me."

"Cocaine does that," he murmured, smoothing his hand up slowly to caress over her breast as she rolled onto her elbow, her nipple enticingly relaxed and swollen with the sun's warmth. "You should crash soon."

"Humph," she grunted doubtfully, trailing her hand down his spine. Her touch was cool and left him shivering delightfully. "If you say so." 

He liked her changeable mood in the mornings, he decided, as he lay practically horizontal across the bed so he could use her body as a pillow. She didn't seem to mind, as she let her fingers slip into his hair and lightly scratch her nails over his scalp. It triggered such bliss he sighed and could already feel his cock reacting again, despite the fact he was laying on his front. Demelza however remained seemingly oblivious, continuing her delightful actions and driving Ross to distraction. Opening his eyes, Ross studied what he could see of her face without lifting his head, noting her eyes were now shadowed by almost purple rings. His sympathies were instantly with her, because he knew of the power of Class A drugs and their side effects – one of the worst was being  that it made sleep near impossible, no matter how tired your body may actually be. 

"Why did you take it?" he asked suddenly, his quiet voice a stark sound in the peace of the room. He was struck anew with surprise that she would take such a strong, hard-core substance, since he knew her to be an utterly over-cautious, deep thinker – not a raver. It suddenly occurred to him that perhaps he had been wrong about her.  _Perhaps_  that was simply the stereotype that the world was conditioned to see in women like Demelza.

 _Perhaps_ he didn't know her as well as he thought he did.

"It was stupid," she dismissed softly, her eyes on the ceiling as she continued to scratch at his scalp. "I went to the bathroom and saw them doing it and it suddenly hit me all over again how  _little_ I have lived – how I've let my fear of failure and my worrying stop me from having any fun." He could hear the self-loathing in her tone and it unsettled him, so he turned his hand into the breastbone he used as a pillow and pressed light kisses there for good measure. He couldn't comment much on this matter, as he had tried almost every drug in the book, bar heroine, and he knew how fun they could be while you were on them.

"That," she continued, "and because of what Ruth told me."

Instantly, Ross felt his hackles rise as his voice lowered instantly. "What did Ruth say?"

There was a pause and Demelza went rigid under his head. She was nervous. "She told me that her cousin knew you from school..." she trailed, evidently choosing her words carefully. 

Ross grunted at the thought.  _Yes. He certainly did._ " – Yes. Unfortunately so – "

" – And she said that he had told her  _you_ used to use them," she continued hurriedly, "to make sex last longer."

He rose his face instantly, his expression no doubt telling of the bemusement and confusion he felt at Ruth's cousin, the utter _twat_ that was George Warlegon, knowing such a detail about him, because he certainly had never told him so!

Reading his expression, Demelza instantly flushed hot and hurried to excuse herself. "I just – she was saying things about how she wouldn't want to be the girl who couldn't keep up with a man like you – and she's right! I was  _that_ worrit' I'd show meself up – _God –_ I'm such a – "

Ross, however, was throughly amused. "She  _told_ you that I used Class A's to make sex last?" He couldn't quite decide if this made him amused or angry, because he knew what a snake Ruth Teague could be. 

" _Was_ she wrong?" Demelza fretted softly, sucking on her nail worriedly. 

He shook his head. "No, not entirely. When I was a teenager – fifteen or so – I _did_ do that, once or twice." He moved up so he was looking down into her bashful face when he smiled, hoping to reassure her. "But then I met Elizabeth and things changed." He chuckled to himself, picturing Elizabeth's face when she had found out he had frequented with drugs. To say he had hit him over the head with the nearest pillow would be entirely accurate. "Elizabeth was never particularly openminded."

When he focused on her face again, breaking from his flash of nostalgia, Demelza was gazing up at him with a slight frown. 

"What?" he asked. 

"You talk about her in past tense," she replied critically, with shy eyes

Ross blinked, confused by her meaning. "Because she _is_."

"Really?" He tone was stark with surprise. He had he really not been clear? Had their entire evening not made his feelings...  _obvious?_

He pulled her up for an insistent kiss, tenderly bracketing her neck with his hands and smoothing her jawline with his thumbs. Smiling against her mouth, he drew back just enough to look her in the eye. 

"Without doubt." 

She then gave him a tiny, shy curve of a smile that left his heart fluttering. She seemed pleased by this response, which in turn pleased him. She deserved to smile more.

His thoughts strayed back to Ruth and her ridiculous tale – evidently a spiteful ploy to get Demelza to become too intoxicated and humiliate herself. As much as it sounded arrogant to admit it, Ruth had aggressively held a torch for him since they had met as teenagers. He had thought her sweet at first, but then the combination of her slimy cousin and her _awful_ mother soon turned her into an almost unrecognisable creature who lied, schemed and pathetically pined – all in attempts to curtail anyone Ross liked in the hope he may notice her. 

She never did seem to realise that it was precisely her aggressive attempts to get his attention that made him so reluctant to give it. 

He felt anger swim in his gut as he considered what could have happened, how Demelza could have easily have lost all perception of reality and ended up hurting herself, or worse, choking on her own vomit on the floor somewhere. Ruth, most definitely, had considered such outcomes and cared little of the risks, which made him furious. Silently, he vowed he would never leave Demelza alone with such a snake ever again. 

"Silly really," Demelza suddenly said, suppressing a giggle as she eyed the length of his body, deliberately letting her eyes roam down his chest. "I should have guessed you don't need drugs to make sex last."

Ross felt his skin flush under her appraisal as he rose a single, expressive eyebrow. 

Suddenly, Ross heard the doorbell ring loudly through the empty, echoing house, disrupting their moment. Groaning, he leant forward enough to nuzzle her face for a moment before rising to face the world outside. He walked to his drawers for a fresh pair of briefs, aware that a pair of eager, round eyes watched him as he moved. He smirked to himself as he pulled them on, turning to face and bending at the waist, tilting his head to the side so he was almost level with her. She was unashamedly gazing at him through tired, hooded eyes, now star-fished across the bed on her stomach. 

"Enjoying yourself?" he teased, pulling on the robe she had worn the night before. 

"Yes," she replied with confidence, blinking lazily. "Very much."

"Alright – well – you stay there Sleeping Beuaty while I get rid of whoever this is."

He hurried down the stairs as the bell rang again, only to open the door and come face to face with Verity. 

"We're headed to Hendrawna," she informed without greeting, her usual bright smile in place but with an even greater spark in her eye. "Are you two lovebirds going to honour us with your presence?"

"Good morning, dear cousin," he greeted sarcastically as she charged fixed her certain eyes on him. He felt his cheeks warm, as it was clear he knew entirely of the developments between himself and Demelza. "I should think so, yes." Swallowing, he could see their friends nearing up the drive on foot, carrying picnic blankets and windbreaks, and he itched to close the door. Thinking of the alluring nature of Demelza's nakedness just upstairs, he dismayed at having to share her with others again, to have to reel in his desires and affections. He felt his selfish nature ticking over, debating holding her hostage in his house so that they would neve have to leave.

 _Steady, Poldark,_ he inwardly chastised. _You don't want to frighten her off!_

Unwillingly, he sighed and rolled his eyes like a petulant child, turning to hurry Demelza. "We'll be a few minutes."

* * *

"Oh, _shit_ ," Demelza dismayed to herself as she helped lay out blankets and towels on the sand, having looked up the at the strength of the early afternoon sun with a squint. 

"What?" Ross was suddenly beside her, unpacking drinks from the refrigerated bag in his hand. Around them, Ross' friends since childhood Zacky and Mark, along with their girlfriends and Verity and Andrew, were still busy laughing at Dwight having accidentally face-planted the sand. 

"Oh!" she jumped, smiling sheepishly across at him. "Nothing – I just – I didn't expect this weather. I don't have any sun cream and I burn – being a stupid  _ginger –_ "

Reaching over into Verity's discarded bag on the blanket, she watched him dig around and pull out a tube of Nivea, gently handing it to her. She rose her eyes to smile shyly and thank him.

"I think your gingerness is one of the most beautiful things about you," he defended softly so the others couldn't hear, awarding her another smile before he went back to his task. His head blocked the glare of the sun as she sat on the blanket, the consequence of which creating a spellbinding halo effect about his head. The wind blew her curls about boisterously between them, but, for once, she didn't mind, because it blew his too. She loved the wildness to his hair and how it refused to be tamed, despite the fact she had witnessed him try to comb them not twenty minutes before. It reminded her greatly of the man himself.

There had been a real sense of intimacy between them as they had reached that morning, witnessing one another's rituals. They brushed their teeth side by side even, which had, for some unbeknown reason, sent them both into unconcealed giggles while their hurried to get ready. 

Most imitate of all – she was wearing a pair of Ross' board shorts, as she hadn't packed for the beach. He'd fidgeted at the sight of her in them, raising his eyebrows and clearing his throat to keep whatever comment he would have said to himself as they were surrounded by his friends. 

Now, on the peace of the sand, Verity and the other girls took off their layers to sunbathe in their bikinis, and Demelza felt her trademark uncertainty begin to settle in again. She was instantly frustrated by it, as it made little sense. After all, not hours before, she had been nude beside and beneath Ross, her walls a distant memory – but now? Now, she felt the certainty of their presence around her as though she were a goldfish in a tank, being ogled at by every passerby without means to do anything but swim in circles. 

She had felt feel Ross' eyes on her as they had strolled down toward the beach carrying their share of the necessities; she had seen his fingers twitch inches from hers. She had shyly walked beside him and craved  _desperately_ to hold his hand, just as Mark and Zacky did with their girlfriends Alice and Kerin. Somehow though, she found she just couldn't – the idea of doing so in front of those she knew settle her into a cringe.

It was as though leaving the sanctity and seclusion of Ross' bedroom had turned her back into herself again, which left her mournful; she'd naively that finally reaching a point of intimacy with Ross would maybe have finally freed her from herself. 

"God, you do _bullshit_ , Poldark," she quipped with a smirk, surpassing any feelings of impending dismay and pushing one of Ross' many pairs of Ray Ban Cats over her eyes, leaning back on her elbows. 

"Ain't that the truth!" Dwight piped in as he thumped himself down opposite, biting into an apple. 

"'e's the worst for't!" Zacky agreed ruthfully, evidently being sarcastic. Demelza liked Zacky and Mark because they were like her – Cornish and working class. Amongst them, she was instantly reminded of her elder five brothers, whom she hadn't seen in so long as all had, like her, fled from their father as soon as they could. 

"Beach ball anyone?!" Dwight bellowed as he threw a bat toward Ross, baiting him about how he had lost on a previous occasion. Demelza smiled as she watched them bound around each other. Settling back, she sighed and took in the sight of Cornwall's wonderful coastline. She had never been to Hendrawna beach before, as everyone around knew that it was private Poldark land with a public footpath on it. It was a lovely cove, with smooth sand, plentiful shells and even a few beach huts. It was a very peaceful place, Demelza decided, as she gazed over the crystal blue of the ocean. 

Ross and Dwight threw themselves about playing a ridiculously competitive game of beach bat and ball, diving over dramatically into the sand in attempts to reach for the ball. She giggled at the sight as she chomped on some of Verity's chicken sandwiches, finally beginning to dissolve into the serenity of their surroundings. 

As she rubbed the sun cream into her pale arms and legs, she found herself thoroughly distracted by the power in Ross' body as he moved. It took precisely six minutes, by Demelza's watch, for Ross to rid himself of his white t-shirt, for which was she exceedingly grateful. She felt heat prickle on the back of her neck and her upper lip that had nothing to do with the sun as she watched the muscles ripple under his bronzed skin as he leapt and dived. He wore shorts that cut off mid-thigh and she found herself most distracted by the thickness of the muscles there, moving with such strength and power as he ran. 

Suddenly, she was incredibly thankful for her choice to borrow a pair of sunglasses, as it allowed for her gaze to wonder without notice.

Gradually, it became too hot to cope, so Demelza gave in and stopped herself of her cotton oversized t-shirt, revealing the most opaque bra shad with her underneath, as she hadn't come prepared enough to have a bikini with her. Finally weary, she propped up the parasol to shield herself from the sun and settled on her front on the blanket beside the other girls. She listened to them chatter about Verity's plan to have a garden party in honour of Ross' charity, liking the idea, but before long she couldn't pick up specific words anymore. The sound of the waves soothed her toward sleep until she couldn't feel where sleep ended and consciousness began. She was partially aware of continued laughter and chatter and intense heat begin to creep across her bare back, though sleep weighed her down too much for her to even move an inch. Her mind drifted, playing hazy images of wide, pearly smiles, thick bronzed muscles and halos of dark curls in a kaleidoscope of memories and desires, though she flinched as the imagery became murky with flashes of home, of tension and fear of her father. 

 _Put some clothes on, missy!_ he hissed, as he always used to. He'd lay his hand on her shoulder hard, digging his fingers into the kind where she wore vest, which he considered too revealing.  _Otherwise y'can't be blamed for what men might do!_

A hot hand then blazed on her back, causing her to jolt awake in trepidation. She blinked her bleary eyes open at the feeling, momentarily caught between the images in her mind and reality.

"Hey," Ross cooed softly as he crouched beside her, a hand on the skin of her back which was now searing with heat. She blinked at him, confused as to her surroundings for a moment, followed by confusion as to why he had woken her. "Sorry to wake you, but you're going a little pink."

Blinking, she realised he was right; the sun had moved slightly lower in the sky and thus meant her parasol no longer covered her skin entirely, leaving her at risk of burning. He rose the tube of Nivea into her line of vision with a questioning smile. She nodded against the blanket as she felt the irresistible pull of sleep beginning to pull her straight back under. 

Ross warmed the cream in his hands before massaging it into her back gently but efficiently. She lulled toward sleep again, basking in the feeling of his hands on her skin, the weight and strength of them leaving her inevitably drowning in further fanciful thoughts. She felt him delicately lift the bra-strap across her back, spreading the sun protection beneath it, and the level of concern it suggested left her smiling wolfishly. 

As he finished, he leant down to delicately kiss the top of her spine, where her curls had slipped to her side and revealed the long line of her pale neck. Peeping out of one eye, she caught his hand before he could move away again. a few meters away, their friends catted and lounged in the sun themselves, hidden from her view by the parasol. With a tiny smile, he read her meaning, settling to lay down in the sun beside her where sleepy form curled in the shade. 

He stretched himself out and folded his hands behind his head, causing his defined stomach muscles to ripple and stretch. Fidgeting slightly, she itched to follow the trail of dark hair with her tongue, but instead remained still, simply dwelling on the idea. 

Catching her eye as it rose from gazing at him, his dark orbs glinted at her knowingly. Arching her back into a stretch, she yawned and rolled her eyes, before relaxing back into the fabric with a thump. 

"...What about _Demelza_?"

Dwight's voice called from a few foot away, breaking through her daydreaming as she sat enough to peep past the parasol. "What about me?"

"Would you sing in our band? Ross says you're great." 

Demelza instantly wheeled round to look at him, squinting at Ross in surprise and slight alarm. " _Did_ he now?!"

Ross looked sleight sheepish, but then simply shrugged. "Well – I'm going by what Verity said!" he defended. 

Demelza rolled her eyes and pasted her best smile on her face as she felt the trickle of uncertainty down her spine. "I'm not sure... I'm not very good at performing for people – "

She felt fingers smooth over her spine and it left her smiling, despite the fact a part of her was incredibly irritated that Ross had suggested such a thing without consulting her. Such a touch summed up Ross Poldark as she had come to know him; out of sight but ever comforting in the most quiet and subtle of ways.   

"You won't know unless you try," Ross pointed out with his usual confidence, wriggling his toes as he closed his eyes to continue in his sunbathing, and she felt somewhat frustrated with him in that moment, because in his world, it was as though everything was just that easy! This comment only encouraged profuse begging from the group, leaving Demelza feel guilty for wanting to say no... and quite literally run and hide from the subject. Swallowing her true feelings, she promised she would think about it and she curled into the shade inches from Ross, though she had little intention of doing so as nothing terrified her more than the prospect of performing publicly.  

Other than, perhaps, letting herself become completely at Ross Poldark's mercy. 

* * *

By the time the sun began setting, Demelza had had another nap and was now energised enough to stroll along the waves. It gave her time to reflect, to wonder and to marvel that any of it had happened to her at all. 

Verity caught up with her and grabbed a hold of her hand in the sisterly way she always did. She had obviously noticed Demelza was distracted and thoughtful, more so than usual, because she let the two of them walk in silence for a while. 

Then – "Is he being good to you?" The question would be ambiguous if it weren't for the fact Demelza's thoughts hadn't been on the topic of Ross already. 

Demelza flushed, not quite realising until that moment that her housemate knew of the shift in herself and Ross' relationship... or whatever it was.

"O'course," she agreed softly, watching her feet at the paddled in the waves. "He's... very kind," she managed, shivering with the slight chill that now settled in the air. "Almost too kind," she sighed in addition, scrubbing her hands over her face. "Half the time I don't rightly know what to say!"

Verity pursed her to keep back a fierce laugh. "He means well – he always does – but make sure you don't let him intimidate you." 

Demelza regarded her friend in profile and stored this advice for future reference, despite the fact she had yet to feel intimated by him. "I'll keep that in mind," she acknowledged. 

"I mean it!" Verity pressed, pulling Demelza toward her before moving to hold her face in her hands, amplifying her sisterly nature all the more. "You're so sweet to me, 'melza and my cousin – well, he's a force of nature. I have seen him light up women with his charm until they just... burn out... because he's just so intense and they weren't strong enough for him and I just – I couldn't face that happening to you."

Demelza felt her stomach turn at her friend's candour, though she was grateful for it. "Do you think _I'm_ not strong enough?"

"No – that's the thing!" she beseeched, leaping around with her usual excited hop. "I know you _are_ – but I also know how easy it is."

Frowning, Demelza found herself seeking out the sight of Ross' snoozing form in the distance past Verity's shoulder. "How easy what is?"

Verity's eyes were soft and filled to the brim with compassion and wisdom. "Loving him."

The weight of her friends words left her stunned into silence, because she couldn't have put it better. It was so desperately easy to love him, never mind because of his devastating appearance, but because the aura of warmth and inclusiveness he gives off with everyone he spoke to. Right from the first night they met, he had been eager to know her, to hear her story, and not simply talk about himself like so many other men she had come across. 

More than that though, his sheer presence was utterly addictive, simply in the way he held himself and the kindness of his eyes. 

"Yes, I s'pose there is that." With a care, Demelza waded into the chilly ocean to her knees, smiling with childish delight at the sight of the tiny camouflaged fish darting about her toes, momentarily distracted from the depth of their conversation. "I'll be careful," she vowed, reaching into the water to pick up a peddle. 

"That's all I ask," she replied, her typical grin returning. Suddenly he voice was faint, as though she had turned away, only for another voice to take its place. Suddenly, Kerin was on the shoreline, dipping the most tentative of toes into the wave as it raced to meet her feet. Demelza swallowed a laugh at her clear skittishness simply at seawater.

"Kerin, isn't it?" Demelza called between the few feet between them, stomping back to the shore with as little splash as she could manage.

Kevin's face instantly rises from where she gazed, disgruntled, at the temperature of the waves, and the look she gave told Demelza that she hadn't expect - or particularly wanted – to be spoken to. "Hi." 

Demelza swallowed the anxiety that instantly bubbled at the frosty expression, knowing she now had to carry on anyway. 

"It's wonderful that we have this sun – I just wish I could enjoy it like the rest of you and didn't burn so much." She knew she was now prattling as a defence mechanism, but felt powerless to halt herself. "You're all so  _brown._ "

Kevin held her own forearm out with a shrug, only looking at Demelza to give her a look up and down that left her shifting uncomfortably. 

Just then, Dwight came running with a thin flat board under his arm, followed by Caroline, and Demelza witnessed the instant transformation in Kerin's demeanour. Her spine straightened and she arched her back to push forward her breasts, which were barely covered by her bikini. Looking back, Demelza could see that Mark was snoozing much like Ross, meaning he most likely had no idea of his girlfriend's... fancy. Demelza had to swallow in distaste at the dishonesty she was witnessing. 

"Anyone fancy a skim?"

"A  _what?"_

Dwight was a bundle of energy to rival even Ross and Demelza warmed to him all the more for it, despite the fact that the effort made her feel throughly ridiculous and uncoordinated. As he demonstrated how to use the skim board, how to run and jump on it and slide across the shoreline, Demelza tried and nearly fell face-first into the waves more than she could count. Inevitably, this did not last long before Kerin became uncharacteristically vocal and pushed past her to try the board herself, wanting Dwight's attention. Demelza happily let her take it, not wanting to witness such obvious flirtation when such a sweet man as Mark was but a few hundred metres away. 

As she made her way back to the picnic site, she beelined straight for Ross' sleeping form. Curling beside him, she lay inches away and just looked at him. He was sleeping on his back, a baseball cap balanced on his forehead to shield his eyes, his mouth slightly open as he quietly snored. She felt a slight sense of guilt, as she knew he was only _this_ exhausted because of her being unable to sleep. His face had caught the sun, leaving a slight bronze already becoming apparent on his cheeks. He now wore a cotton Adidas jumper, having woken up about an hour ago with the slight chill of the descent of the sun. 

He looked so adorable and comfy, she couldn't help but move to lay her head on his shoulder, nuzzling the soft fabric. He shifted under her weight and wrapped his arms round her middle, rolling her to now lie between his legs and against his chest fully. Sighing, she felt her heart leap at the strength and certainty of his hold as she lay her ear and cheek against his breastbone, listening to the rhythmic thump of his heart. She barely quashed a giggle as her calves brushed his, the dark hair on them tickling her barer skin. He hummed in his sleep, evidently content, as the baseball cap was now gone from his face. Resting her forehead against the base of his throat, she felt him turn his head, hiding his nose in her hair. His skin was hot and his smelt of the freshness of the sea and the air.

Demelza wasn't sure how long they stayed like this, but eventually, the peace was broken and of course, this was done by an ever overzealous Caroline. 

"Hey lovebirds!" she greeted with a glint in her eye. Ross grumbled a greeting and Demelza simply held up her middle finger, refusing to move. 

Beneath her, Ross then guffawed at her impolite gesture before pressing a kiss to her crown – the tenderness of which leaving her without breath in her lungs. Opening one eye, she peeked out of her hiding place in Ross' chest and felt her chest tighten at the sight of the magnificent sunset that filled the sky. 

"Ross?" she roused gently, smiling and slowly blinked her her, struggling to open his eyes. "Where'd y'put the camera?"

"Verity's bag," he slurred, burrowing his face into the back of her neck, pinning her down as she tried to move. 

"Ross!" she giggled, struggling against his hold. "No, Ross! I need to take the picture before the sunset's gone!"

Grumbling cutely, he let her go with a huff and she could feel his eyes on her and she rifled through the beach bag. Retrieving his Canon, she stumbled to her feel clumsily. Looking up through the lens, she came face to face with a promiscuously posing Caroline and pressed the shutter with a laugh. Then, Dwight joined in and Demelza felt the chemistry between them, even through the barrier of the lens. 

"Am I doing this right?" she asked, feeling Ross presence now behind her, tilting the camera into his view. Beside her, he yawned as he crouched slightly to get a look at the camera, adjusting the aperture. 

"You should get more of the sunset's colour now. If the aperture's wider then you get more light in – you see?"

"I see." Holding the camera was great care, she smiled in understanding. 

"C'mon, you two!" came Dwight's call then, hollering for their attention. By now, the entire group had gathered, hoping for a group photograph. They all laughed and chattered boisterously as Mark, Zacky and Dwight suddenly launched for Ross, lifting him from his stubborn posture beside her to carry him over for the photograph. 

"Put me down, you bastards!"

"Not on y'life!"

Demelza grinned at the sight of such earnest evidence of friendship before drawing the camera back to her eye. Through the viewfinder, she focused on the group, taking in their foolish smiles and laughter. She noted most that Ross seemed somewhat uncomfortable in his expression, his smile suddenly chronically shy. Suddenly, it made sense to her why it was he liked to be behind the camera; it meant he didn't have to ever be in front of it.

After the stark click of the shutter, most predictably, they came for her. 

"Right, Demelza! Your turn! Get over here!" Ross called, stepped into the gap to take the camera from her. Verity and Caroline pulled into into the group with continuous pleas until she rolled her eyes and gave into their demands. As the girls curled their arms around her from either side, she smiling begrudgingly at the lens. 

As the group disputed once the photo was taken, Demelza watched Ross laughing at something Dwight had said, unable to stop herself from staring at the sight. Swallowing a sudden bloom of emotion, she walked up to the picnic blankets and retrieved a beer from the fridge bag, needing a drink to calm herself. 

"Great minds think alike." 

She turned to find Ross trudging through the sand toward her, retrieving a beer also. The heat of his body warmed her arm and left her itching to be alone with him again. 

"Either that or you're following me," she teased, swigging her beer, sitting cross legged on the blanket. 

His gave an exaggerated frown, settling in the deck chair beside her. "Damn – you've rumbled my cunning plan."

Laughing at his joke, she leant against his bare, tanned leg, using it to support her back. There was a comfortable silence between them then as they watched their friends play yet another game of rounders, using clothing as posts. She was conscious of the fact this was the closest to being alone they had been since stepping out of Nampara and she felt sudden nerves at the thought. It was as though her senses were heightened whenever she was with with him like this, as the feeling of his skin and soft leg hair against her back through the thin cotton of her t-shirt left her hyperaware. Sighing, she leant her head back against his knee, feeling lack of adequate sleep beginning to take its toll again. 

His large hand came to caress her hair to get her attention. "C'mere, you," he murmured with a laugh, evidently finding her amusing. 

He motioned for her to sit on his lap and she felt her cheeks turn warm as she desperately wanted such a thing... but she was also hesitant, for reasons she frustratingly could not place. Taking a deep breath, she took yet another leap and stood, slipping over his knees and settling herself shyly horizontally over his thighs.

"Don't get too excited now," she teased, the words rising from nowhere. For a moment, they seemed to catch Ross off guard, but then he laughed so ruthfully she knew he had been thinking much the same thing. 

"I'm afraid I can't make promises like that," he dismissed with a slight flush to his cheeks. "I promised not to bullshit, remember?"

The evening wind blew and caught the back of her neck, triggering a shiver through her frame with a sudden chill. 

"Cold?" he asked, settling down his beer in the sand. "You can have my jumper."

" – No – Ross – " she denied modestly, not wanting to cause any trouble, but he wriggled out of his jumper anyway. Assisting her, he pulled it over her head as she got partially stuck and she felt her cheeks heat all the more. As he continued to chuckle at her expense, she couldn't help but join in, hiding her heated cheeks behind his hands. Bashfully, she hid her face against his shoulder and gave his middle a thorough squeeze. "Thank you," she murmured softly, suddenly feeling unexpected emotion rise in her throat again. She was not just saying so for his sacrificing of his jumper and she hoped he knew that. She felt him shift and curl a light hand around the curl of her waist. 

"Don't mention it."

"Smile, you two!" Roused from her somber moment, Demelza felt her face burn as Verity stood before them with Ross' camera. She swallowed and felt Ross shifting a little beneath her. She looked over at his face and they both realised they had no escape, as if there was one thing Verity Poldark was, it was insistent. Reluctantly, Demelza turned back to the lens and threw her arms around Ross' neck with a shy smile, only for him to press a loud and slobbering kiss to her cheek as the shutter clicked. 

"Ugh! Ross!" she groaned with a cackle, rubbing her hand over her cheek. His chest rumbled with laughter and it earns him a hard poke to the rubs. 

"Arsehole," she hissed good naturally, unable to keep her miffed expression on her face at the sight of his unapologetic, puppy-like smile. "I was trying to go for a _nice_  photo!"

Meanwhile, in front of them, Verity was practically jumping on the spot.

Ross gripped her middle and pulled her back flush against him, looking at her directly in the eye as he whispered, "I can do nice," against the shell of her ear. 

She flushed and resisted the urge to elbow him for flirting with him like that in front of Verity. Directing the most earnest smile she could muster toward the camera, she focused on the lens and ignoring him. 

"Eek!" Verity squealed happily as the shutter clicked. "You two! You're just _adorable_!"

Demelza rolled her eyes and hide her face as Verity danced off while Ross carried on laughing. 

"If y'are gonna' laugh at me this much, I might jus' decide I don't like that you much after all!" she scolded. Though her anger was false, the words were grounded in true frustration, because, whether she liked it or not, she _did_ feel as though she was inferior; as though, any moment, they would turn around and laugh at the country girl who tried to be good enough for Ross. 

"No, no," he pleaded instantly, pouting like a child. "I'll be good, I promise, I promise." He nuzzled his face into her hair enough to leave a shiver along her skin. 

"Hm..." She pretending to consider it, lifting her face to look at him. She knew her cheeks were still pink and that looking him in the eye still left her stomach all askew, but it was a high she couldn't resist. Next, he extended his neck just enough to kiss where the curve of her lips met her cheek, leaving a smile behind on her features that had grown tenfold. She rolled her eyes, pretending to be pensive. "Alright... M'be I will keep you."

Turning her head, she sought out his lips, banishing her own self consciousness as best she could for int of comfort and the heady happiness that the most simple of physical contact with Ross provided. The kiss was light and gentle and as she backed away enough to breathe, she was near-giddy to find it left a satisfied, simmering smile on his face. 

"I should hope so," he said, lifting his chin and lowering his brows in earnest. She liked his brows, she decided, perhaps most of all, in the way they quirked and arched with his speak, almost with a mind of their own.  Moving to kiss him again, she cupped his face and surpassed a chuckle as he met her with crushing enthusiasm. She grinned into the kiss and therefore met his next kiss with a clash of teeth, leaving him nipping her lip. 

"Don't, Ross," she breathed, her tone was a desperate wheeze as her fingers smoothed the soft hair on his sternum, fidgeting in his lap as visions of their evening came rushing back. "I can't rightly cope if y'are going to do that."

"And you think _I'm_ coping, with you sat in my lap looking all... angelic and... _edible_?" 

She blinked and was unable to quash her self-satisfied smile at his frankness, leaning to rest her face against his. 

"Edible?" Moving her hands up to smooth back his hair, she peered into his eyes. 

He dropped his face to her jumper-clad sternum and hummed incoherently. Pulling his face from its hiding place, she smiled at the immature, frustrated pout on his features. " _Desperately."_

Laying her head back down against his collarbone, she rolled her eyes. "Alright, alright. Steady on," she teased, in turn earning  _her_ a poke in the ribs. 

Just then, Kerin made her way toward them, evidently in a strop over Dwight paying his attentions to Caroline. 

"Someone has a face like a slapped arse," Ross observed in a murmur against her ear, causing Demelza to snort and bark out a laugh, earning a glare of death in their direction.  Demelza swallowed against the cold look, remembering her earlier rudeness and feeling her resolve wane a little. 

"I didn't know y'two were together," Kerin piped in from the other end of the blanket. Demelza intently straightened, already knowing that this comment was entirely uncharacteristic and most likely the setting for a trap. She felt her heart beat faster and her palms begin to sweat, as was always her reaction around intimidating girls as far back as her school days. Suddenly, she felt fourteen again, being laughed at by pretty, bitchy blonde girls for her ginger hair and her gangly frame, and she didn't like it.

Beside her, Ross instantly seemed to puff his chest with his usual, wondrous confidence. "It's a relatively new endeavour," he replied nonchalantly, smoothing a hand up and down her back, evidently feeling the sudden tension in her frame. She herself barely looked at Kerin, now reeling by the implication that this now meant they were... _together._ Was that what they were? Boyfriend and girlfriend? So soon?

When she did raise her gaze, she was met with the sight of Kerin looking Ross up and down, appreciating him far more than she should, and it suddenly occurred to her that she had most likely been doing so all day long, while Demelza had been obliviously snoozing. She met Demelza's eye and simply carried on – the cheek of the woman! It left Demelza feeling hot all over with a rage she was unaccustomed to. 

Most deliberately, she found her hands subsequently caressing his form chest, fiddling with the soft chest hair and her lips came to kiss his chin. 

"I haven't decided if I want to put up with 'im yet," she quipped, plastering a full smile on her face as she ruffed his hair. At this, Dwight hooted with laughter, having overheard as he raced up to them. 

"I knew it!" he whooped. "I _knew_  such a beautiful, sweet woman couldn't be set on you, Poldark! Go on, Demelza – _spill._ How much is he paying you?"

They all laughed and the atmosphere shifted back to its previous lightness again. 

"I know what you're doing," Ross rumbled later as she leant to kiss his cheek randomly, halting her busy hands as they helped pack up. Demelza couldn't stop looking at Kerin leering at Ross from metres away and it ruffled her feathers to the point of distraction.

"What _I'm_ doing? What about  _her._ " Stuffing items into the bag with increasing anger, she hissed the words for only Ross to hear. "Wha' is it with some women?! They think they just _take_ what they want – "

Suddenly, her movements were halted as Ross pulled his into his arms from behind, his usual rumbling chuckle vibrating against her back. 

"I like when you get territorial," he purred against her cheek, pressing a kiss there. "So _feisty_." 

The affection did little to quash the anger and discontent in her gut. "Y'would be too, if any of these gents who had supposed girlfriends were givin' me the eye!"

His chuckles started again as he turned her around to face him. The rest of the group were scattered, collecting belongings and chatting. She took in Ross dark eyes and could see that beneath the amusement, there was a look of gratitude. It almost seemed to say... _thank you for being angry, because it means you care._

She closed the gap between them and kissed him hard, pouring her aggravating into the kiss. Ross kissed back with enthusiasm but also seemed to try and keep her at bay, holding her face in his hand with the other around her back. When he pulled back, she attempted to close the gap again, leaving a grin on his face. 

"I most certainly would care," he confessed, inches from her lips, pressing one last kiss there before withdrawing back to their task. "I hope you know that."

Less rattled than before, Demelza simpered in spite of herself. "I do... now."

As he tried to make her laugh imitating Kerin's expression, she found herself laughing until there were tears rolling down her cheeks – the entire fiasco made all the more hilarious by the fact they were the only two that had the faintest idea why they were laughing. 

However, once the laughter had finally died, she felt the uneasy feeling settle back in her gut, because as the sun set on what was a beautiful, wonderful day, she knew that meant it was ending.

Demelza knew there would be trials, that the ease and happiness of this day could not last. She was _painfully_ aware that the certainty such days of contentment was all an illusion, which was partially why it all frightened her so much. As they packed up, heading for a seafood dinner down the coast at the best local, she knew that the moment she was alone with Caroline, for example, the questions would come thick and fast and invade any sense of privacy she had previously thought she had. She also knew that, come tomorrow, they would have to return to Bristol; to university and deadlines; essays and exams, which would mean saying goodbye to Ross, whose home and family business, now officially entirely his alone, was here in Cornwall, miles and miles away. 

She knew all this, but for once she suppressed her instinct to worry or set off running... 

Only time would tell if she would come to regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think, everyone! :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thank you to my pals @iorwen and @loveofmylonglife for being my sounding boards for this chapter... It was quite intense to write.....

After their beach day, Demelza, Ross, Verity, Caroline, Mark, Zacky and Dwight all gathered for the best fish and chips around. It such a great comfort for Demelza, to be surrounded by Cornish voices again, though it did make her sorrowful that she was so close to home and yet had no one would miss her. 

Well, there was perhaps one person: her only younger brother, Tim.

He was, in fact, her half brother, but she had always cared for him and loved him as though he were her own blood entirely. He was a sweet, kind, clever boy, unworthy of his parentage – her father somehow managed to create such a sweet creature with his second, and bitter, wife. As he was a product of this new, and apparently 'sacred', marriage, Tim was seen as a miracle child by her father, meaning Demelza never had to worry that her father would harm him as he had done for so many years with the rest of his children.

After all, little Tim didn't remind him of the woman he loved who tragically died after giving birth like she did. 

This did little to quash the guilt she felt, however, as she sat in the pub that night, only ones of miles from where Tim would be sleeping. He rang her from time to time, but as she was in her second year living away from home now, those occasions were much more sparse. She hadn't seen him since Christmas, when she had come home for the minimum two weeks possible, remaining in her room and away from her father for the most part. 

Ross noticed her mood shifting for a while, as his hand moved from over her shoulder to caress the base of her neck. She had smiled at him in gratitude, blanketing her expression by default. Around her, their was chatter and laughter and she listened to them quietly, thankful to at least now have friends to sit back and listen  _to._

As they drank into the night, a fiddle player and folk singer began filling the room with foot-tapping, knee-slapping cèilidh music, something which inevitably left Demelza with renewed contentment in her heart. So much so, that as she lounged into Ross' warm side on the wooden bench, she finally built up the courage to place down her pint and ask him a question she knew he would be dreading. 

"Dance with me?" she murmured, looking up into his face as her hand came to rest on his solid middle. Her fingers flexed against the firm muscle, hidden behind taunt cotton and she knew it grasped his attention. She smiled at him with the most angelic eyes she could manage, biting her lip to keep her pleas from becoming desperate. In the dim, pathetic light of the pub, she could see the light reflecting off the roundness of his cheeks as he smiled. His eyes were becoming increasingly sleepy and she could see the change in him as the pints began to take effect. Pouting, she deployed her new weapon: attraction. 

"Please!" she begged, batting her eyelids and kissing the back of his hand where it was entwined with hers. The kisses were sloppy and silly and get him to laugh. He blinked his eyes, tipsily grumbling in discontent at the idea.

" _I'll_ dance with you, 'melza!" came Dwight's thundering voice from across the table, his chest puffed as though he were a knight in shining armour. She'd grinned and excitedly begun shuffling out from behind the table within an instant. 

"Oh, no you won't!" came Ross' instant protest, though humour could be heard in both their voices. "Y'jammy bastard."

There was evidently a very brother-like competitiveness between the two of them and for once Demelza was thankful for it. As she had bounced up and down happily as Ross' conceding, she caught Dwight's passing wink and knew that getting Ross' to concede for her had been his entire plan. 

It transpired that the entire group had begun dancing before long, stomping feet against the ancient stone floor and skipping around in the most indelicate style that she was sure their more choreographed Cornish tavern-going ancestors who be horrified by. 

She didn't know what it was about the sound of the fiddle, but it seemed to light up her senses and it sent the hair on her arms standing on end. Looking up, Ross was gazing at her and trying desperately to look scathing, but his eyes wee laughing even when his chest was still. His cheeks were ruddy with exertion but also with drink, his eyes becoming hooded and slow to blink. As the groups joined hands and skipped in circles, Demeleza all but wheezed for breath, aware of her curls sticking to her forehead. Ross', for that matter, were fizzed to a degree she had not seen before and it made breathing even harder. 

"Judas!" she had gasped as she thumped down back at their table, where Ross was already slumped with a free beer. Lifting it from his hand, she then took a generous gulp. When she had lowered the glass, his eyes were pinned to her, evidently he was amused by her audacity. It did not skip her notice that he then drank from the exact spot she had with a smirk dancing on his lips. 

"I cannot  _believe..._ y'made me do that," he gasped, though he continued to smile. "I don't... _dance."_

"Dancin' is joyful, though," she argued happily. " _I_ think y'just an old, old man."

Ross then reeled back in false offence. "I'm twenty-three!"

"See!  _Ancient!"_

Their chuckles morphed together as they were surrounded by noise, but in that moment Demelza felt it again: their bubble. The walls of it returned and left her feeling as though the cacophony of noise and chatter around them was nothing but background as he lifted a hand to her face, wiping away the froth that partially lined her lip. 

"You're so pretty," he cooed with hooded eyes, pulling her close enough to kiss her head, though he narrowly missed and caught her eyelid instead. 

"An' you're drunk," she dismissed bashfully, lightly pushing him back. 

His smile was much wider than his usual sober expressions, displaying full lines of white teeth. He rose his eyebrows at her retraction, gulping his pint. 

"Always so sensible," he slurred, smoothing a thumb over the curve of her cheek before dropping his hand. 

"Someone 'as to be, Ross." Truthfully though, she hadn't meant it like that. She had a considerable amount of alcohol in her system by that point, just as he did, and, deep down, would have loved for him to bathe her in pretty words all night long. That, though, was something the sober side of her could not stomach in a room full of people, because her first instinct was to want to contest such kindness. After all, she didn't thinks she _was_ pretty. If she were, then why was he the first man to  _ever_ say so? 

The evening had truly been an education for Demelza, as she had never witnessed Ross drunker than she was before now and it gave her thorough insight into how it was he might _actually_ feel. 

Later, when she'd danced more with Caroline and Verity, she found the toilet and hurried to relieve herself. Catching sight of herself in the mirror at the sink, she squirmed at the sight, seeing nothing but the dark circles under her eyes and the frizzy, knotted nature of her shoulder-length curls. Her skin was an unattractive red at her cheeks and down her neck, seemingly patchy. She could feel the uncomfortable friction of her slight sun burn under her shirt and the clammy nature of her sweat cooled skin.  Leaving the reflection behind, she was stuck once again that she still had  _no_ idea what it was that Ross saw in her. 

Stepping out of the bathroom, Demelza had been still waist deep in thought when she all but walked straight into Ross.

"There she is!" he greeted in the quiet corridor, his voice bouncing off the brick walls. He was still standing, but his head swayed a little and his blinks were slow. 

He caught her when she had also tripped against him, his hand remaining hot and sure at the curve to her waist. 

"There _she_ is..." he repeated in a drawl as his eyes swept over her face now, as though inspecting her face for something. 

"Hello, Ross," she greeted warmly, cocking her head at him with a stern, almost maternal eye but a smile that told him she didn't mean it. 

"You're wearing my shorts," he grinned, looking down at them in the tiny gap between them. "Do you know how  _hot_ that is?"

Shaking her head was all she could do, because she hadn't considered that to be something he might think, though she could understand the reasoning. 

As she did so, he hummed and slowly crowded her against the wall. When he opened his eyes again, they were dark and hungry. 

"You drive me  _mad,_ " he whispered, his breath on her face and leaving her without air of her own; his proximity triggering her own desire to skyrocket. Shaking his head, a grizzle escaped his throat. "I could just – "

Closing the gap between them, he trapped her lips in a bruising kiss that left her gasping as he pressed her hard into the shadowed alcove of the wall. He was hot and heaving and Demelza had little choice but to hold onto his middle to anchor herself. With every kiss, he nipped with his teeth, knowing what it did to her, while his hand wondered and suddenly cupped her behind. The move pressed her into the length of him and she could feel the heat and hardness of him through his shorts, pressing into her abdomen.

"I can't stop..." he heaved before claiming he slips again for a moment, "thinking about you...this morning."

His desire left him heaving, dispersing his speech and lightning a fire in her chest. She fidgeted where she stood, locked against the brick. 

"Touching yourself...  _Jesus,"_  he hissed, pressing his body even harder against hers. "It makes me hard as a plank."

Hidden from view in the shadows of the corridor, and with the music still filling the room down the corridor. No one could hear them, much less see them, and for a moment she allowed herself the luxury of succumbing to the intensity of the moment she was so unaccustomed to. His words shocked her, their candidness leaving her heart hammering in her ears. Mostly though, they made her  _want_ all over again, the fire he had been teaching her to light within herself consuming her with a vengeance as the kiss turned into a mash of teeth.

"Ross," she breathed against his lips, her voice shaking with the fragility of her current state. His hand was all but groping her behind, rising to squeeze her breast his one tight, insistent hand, kissing her continuously and leaving her with no room to breath.

"You're a naughty girl, really, aren't you?" he whispered, trapping her lip in his teeth near-painfully.

"Ross." He didn't seem to hear her, which left a slight sweat on the back of her neck. Suddenly, his hand came to cup her between her legs through his shorts, becoming frenzied. She felt her self consciousness begin to scream in discomfort and she was instantly reminded of his strength and superiority in this situation. She said his name, but he did;t seem to respond. Now, when she spoke it again, her voice began to shake with slight, unavoidable panic. 

After all, if anyone knew how drink changed people, it was Demelza. 

"Ross!" she urged as she tiled her face away form his kiss just enough to speak. He barely seemed to notice and she knew now that the cold shudder that ran through her was _fear_. "Ross,  _stop!_ _"_

She must have sounded afraid, because with that, he instantly did. His face was the picture of guilt and regret as he tried to catch his breath, smoothing a hand over his mouth. 

"Sorry!" he urged instantly, stepping back and holding out his hands in a symbol of a cease fire. "I'm sorry." He stumbled backward, his face suddenly resembling much more of his sober self. "I don't know why I did that."

Swallowing and taking a moment to centre herself, she looked up at him and smiled. Instantly, any sense of fear was gone and she could see the man she knew resurface again, if a little rugged around the edges. "I do, Ross – it's just the drink."

She was the first to look down, feeling her own guilt trickle through her veins. Perhaps she had teased him too much, given him the wrong impression that morning that she was ready for any and all intense intimacies whenever he wanted them. 

That was not some she was ready for. 

"After livin' with my father, I know more than anyone how drink changes people," she confessed.

"Shit – of course," he agreed, shaking his head with a weak smile. "Demelza – "

" – Don't, Ross," she halted, moving to kiss his cheek and smile at him reassuringly. "It's alright. I'm okay."

She left him in that corridor to stew, needing room to think. She wasn't angry with him – after all, part of her had wanted it – but it did give her food for thought about her own fears. Clearly, simply forcing the fears away does little but allow them to fester and it would therefore but much more complex than she had first thought. 

Not long afterwards, they staggered home together and Caroline took the opportunity, as they walked down the paint line in the middle of the country roads, to fall behind and shower her with questions. 

"Did you – ?"

"No! No!" Demelza denied instantly, her cheeks burning in the dark. Ahead, Ross and Dwight staggered along, leaning on one another's shoulders. "We did... _things_ , but not...  _that."_

Caroline was already laughing at her. "You can't even say the words!"

Demelza felt her chest tighten as she began to feel uncomfortably ruffled. "I don't want to talk about this right now, Caroline."

Her eyes remained on Ross' silhouette as they walked. It was chilly and she was still only wearing her t-shirt. Now completely sober, the cold began to fester. 

"Demelza?" Ross called over his shoulder, slightly slurring the last syllable of her name in a way that made her smile. "Y'want my jumper?"

Speeding up, she felt her stomach dance with fresh butterflies.  _See,_ she thought.  _He's_   _kind._

As she came to walk at his side, she just make out his expression and it was much more sober that it had been. In his hand, he held the Adidas jumper toward her. 

"Don't want you freezing to death," he added, as though further explanation were needed for such an act of kindness.

Leaning over to kiss his cheek, she took it and threw it over head head, shivering against the wind. "Thank you."

"Ugh – get a room, would you?!" Dwight protested melodramatically, causing them all to laugh. 

"With him in  _this_ state?" Demelza beseeched, skipping to walk ahead of them as they staggered. "You've got be kidding!"

* * *

Ross' state only disintegrated, as by the time they made it to Trenwith, which was closer than Nampara, the beer, liquor and dancing had proved an unwise combination. Racing to the bathroom, the poor man inevitably emptied his stomach into the toilet. It was Verity who told Demelza of this, who had been too busy helping make pancakes to have noticed. 

As Dwight lingered the doorframe simply to laugh at his friend, Demelza instantly pushed past him with a displeased frown. 

"Oh, Ross!" she sighed sympathetically as he continued to gag and heave. Hastily, she moved to pull back his curls as they nearly fell in the firing line, pulling the hair elastic from her own hair to tie the front curls back. 

"I'm fine!" He tried to dismiss her, pushing her hands away in embarrassment, but another wave of nausea heeded him as he curled back over the bowl.

“Stop playing a hero and let me _help_!” she ordered affectionately, smoothing him with slow, steady circles between his shoulder blades. His skin was hot and was covered with a sheen of sweat. Rinsing a flannel under the cold tap, she lifted the curls the rested at the back of his neck and lay it there. He shuddered and sighed gratefully at the change in temperature.

"Thank you," he barely managed, guilt swaying in his voice.

"Y'welcome, idiot," she replied, unable to stop herself smoothing a hand through his damp curls. 

"Such an idiot," he groaned in agreement before lifting his head to heave again.

Sympathy spiked in her at the sound of his retching. Sitting on the floor behind him, she left her hands wonder over his lean waist to gently massage his lower back and sides under her hands.  

He hummed and murmured nonsensically as he moved to rest his forehead back against the outer rim of the bowl.

"Did'ya say somethin', Ross? Are you alright?" she stressed, attempting to speak patiently. 

"So sweet," he breathed, his eyes closed as his face was a pale, emotionless slate. " _So,_ so, so sweet."

"What is?" she questioned, suppressing giggles at his slurring. "Ross – what are'ya _on_?" 

"You..." he whispered after a long pause, the tiny glimmer of a smile lifting the corner of his mouth. _"'melza..._  So sweet..."

She nearly melted into the floor at his earnest confession, smiling and leaning her temple against his back. He was still now, though there was a nearly indistinguishable tremor in his frame. Turning her head, she pressed a kiss to the centre of his back in gratitude. 

After a long period of quiet, he began to move. "I think I can... get up now," he managed croakily, lifting himself carefully to lean against the sink. 

"Can you walk?" 

"Yeah, just... a minute." 

Slowly, he rinsed his mouth with water, followed by two bouts of mouthwash, before taking a long moment to breath deeply. As he turned, there was a shine to his skin that told of his heated state. As he tried to stand, he swayed against her and she was suddenly aware for the first time of the weight of him, as he was unable to entirely hold himself up. 

"Oh Ross – you're heavy! Wait a second." She turned and hollered for Dwight, who sauntered into the doorway with a smug grin. 

"Wow, mate," he drawled arrogantly, shaking his head at his friend. "You're a mess."

Ross barely looked at him but gave him a grunt that told of his indifference. "You're an... _arsehole_ ," he grumbled, rubbing his eyes. Taking steps forward, Ross clearly tried hard to walk straight, but his sway was imminent.

Dwight snorted and went to hold him up, pulling his arm over his shoulder. "C'mon, bud. Let's get you to bed."

He guided Ross to one of Trenwith's many guest rooms and plonked him onto the kingsize bed. Demelza found herself following on behind anxiously, abandoning all thoughts of midnight pancakes. Lingering at the threshold of the doorway, she watched as Dwight attempted to strip Ross of his clothes. 

"Just – Ross – sit  _still,_  you _twat_!"

She stifled a giggle in her throat as he attempted to push his friend away. Dwight ignored him, pulling his shoes from his feet. 

"Why're youundressing me?" he questioned hotly, evidently much displeased with his friend's insistence that he take off his muddied clothes before succumbing to sleep.

"Believe me, mate, it's not exactly what I want to be doing, either."

Demelza laughed from the doorway, capturing the sleepy Poldark's attention.  

"'emlza!" he greeted, as though she hadn't been with him just seconds before. He then looked at Dwight, who was turning down the bed, with a frown that gave the image of a confused child. "Why can't  _she_ undress me?"

She watched Dwight bite back a tumultuous laugh, made all the more so when he took one look at her burning face. Moving into the room, Demelza dismissed Dwight with a grateful smile as she moved to take his place at Ross aid.  He was sat at the foot of the bed, grumbling that he wanted to sleep. She knew she wouldn't have long before he fell asleep upright. 

"Alright, alright – I'm here, you," she assured, standing between his legs. "Arms up." He did as she said with a childish smile, reminding her of the soft eyes of a labrador, yearning to please. She pursed her lips to keep from laughing with delight, focussing on peeling off his t-shirt. As she dropped it to the floor beside her, Demelza was inevitably drawn to expanse of his bronze skin. She found herself captivated by the hair that covered him, her own breathing seeming to become synced with by the rise and fall of his stomach. Behind her, Dwight appeared and handed her what looked to be cotton shorts and a white t-shirt. She looked at him questioning, wondering where he had got them.

"They're Francis'," he clarified under his breath so that Ross would not hear. Demelza quickly glanced at him, finding him staring into space in the direction of her body. She shifted under his gaze as Dwight left again, knowing that Ross certainly wouldn't be happy when he woke up in his cousin's clothing, considering their recent estrangement. Sighing, she pushed such niggles to the back of her mind and went back to her task. Ross was humming to himself, a tune she didn't recognise, and his eyes were drooping closed.

"Ross!" she cooed, feeling guilty. "We need to get y'out of these dirty shorts, then you can sleep." At the sound of her voice, his head rose and he attempted to focus. She then watched as a very slow, wicked grin rose on his lips, his eyes glittering with boyish charm. The expression made her heart hammer violently. 

"Honestly, Demelza – if you want me naked, all y'had to do was just ask," he purred, his voice filled with audacity and confidence that only a drunk man could muster. He blinked at her sleepily, though he seemed unaware of his tired expression as he began attempting to smoothly rid himself of his shorts. Had he been sober, the move would have been heavily erotic, but as the situation stood she had to bite back a laugh. He had no idea of his own drunkness and it left her enlightened. 

Since meeting Ross Poldark, she had spent every moment ascending him onto a pedestal; alight in his sexuality, his appeal and his kindness. He was everything she felt she could never be and therefore it was all but impossible  _not_ to idolise him, to some degree. 

However, in his moment, with the skills of flirtation and his powerful physicality temporarily stripped away, she could see him for what he truly was, which was a young man, just like any other. Yes, he was utterly devastating in his handsomeness, but he could not help that. It was no doubt that living with genetics like his meant that he had grown to react a certain way, used to being able to affect women so easily.  Now, without such distractions, she could see a vulnerable side to him that he kept very well hidden from day to day, and it was utterly fascinating. 

"Let me," she giggled, thoroughly amused by his struggle to untie his shorts, she brushed his hands away and knelt to do it for him. She attempted to ignore the fact that her hands brushed the hair at his naval, or their proximity to what lay beneath the material. 

"You should smile more..." he murmured, still smiling wolfishly in her periphery. She could feel his eyes on her face as she looked down at her hands as they undid the ties. "So pretty."

She flushed under his compliment, as always as she braced herself for what would inevitably come next. "Oh, Ross! If I'd known what a sweet mouth y'had on drink, I'd have get you plastered sooner!"

"Y'can get me plastered any day, every day, Demelza," he chuckled and continued to give her a heated look that left her squirming. 

"Right – stand up," she ordered, pulling him to his feet by his shoulders. He struggled to stay up at first, giving her an excuse to touch him around his bare, warm middle. "Can you take off your own shorts now or do you need help with _that_ , too?"

Ross shrugged and wiggled his brows, leaving Demelza arching her own and momentarily speechless at his continued provocative audacity. 

"I'd rather you did it," he murmured cheekily, biting his lower lip.  

Completely out of her depth, Demelza ignored the heat that settled on the skin of her chest and up her neck and tried to focus on her breathing. Pragmatically, she stood up to her full height and pulled on the waistband until the shorts slipped from their place. The sight that greeted her was as she had most dreaded – but also most _hoped_ for – as the dark nest of his public hair came into view; followed, as the fabric slipped completely, by the sight of his most intimate anatomy. 

Demelza's mouth filled with saliva at the sight of him, struck by the fact this was the first time she will have seen a man naked when she was sober. Though his intoxication left him placid, she was left breathless as the impressive size of him. Desperate not to stare, she hurried in getting him to sit, stretching the cotton briefs for him to slip in his feet. She adverted her gaze down, focussed on her hands, as she knew the expression on his face would leave her feeling all the more embarrassed, even if Ross didn't mind at all. 

"Was hoping you'd just leave me clothes-less," he pouted, slurring charmingly in his attempts to say 'clothes-less'. Beckoning him to stand up, she gave him an expectant look, hoping he would at least pull up his own underwear. Ross, though, was having none of it. He carried ons marking directly into her face, throughly enjoying parading himself in front of her. 

 _"Men,"_ she chastised, rolling her eyes. "It's always got to be bloody _contest_. _"_ Admitting defeat, she reached down to his knees and slowly pulled the cotton up over his thighs. Unable to look at her own hands, she rose them to Ross' eyes to find they no longer laughed, but were heavy and dark with the telltale intensity of lust, if a little hooded with intoxication. His eyes surveyed her face in the way she knew he liked to do when they were eye to eye, moving from her lips up to her eyes and back again, beckoning her. 

His skin was hot under her hands, the fine hairs on his thighs leaving her with goosebumps on her arms as they brushed against her thumbs. Deciding to play him at his own game, Demelza held his eye as she pulled the underwear the last few inches of its journey, hoping that he would at least having the decency to remember both her sensuality _and_ bravery in the morning. Deliberately biting her lip, she looked down at her hands as she studiously focused on positioning him comfortably into the cotton. It dawned on her just how alien it felt to be touching a grown man this way, as she had never done so until the night before – and even then, she hadn't been entirely sober to be aware of it. 

Now, she was aware that she would be able to recall _every_ detail, the tickle of his hair and the heavy of his flesh, and that this moment would remain indelible etched in her mind in a way that they intimacies the night before never would. As she pulled the underwear into place, she suddenly felt embarrassed that she had spent so many years so mystified and, if she was honest,  _frightened_ by the idea of a man's penis, as though it were a weapon of mass destruction or, less melodramatically, something that would lure her into situations she might later regret. She wanted to laugh at herself, because as she played over the sight of him in her mind's eye, she realised that any danger or fear would not be the fault of the anatomy, but of the man who chose to use it that way. 

And Ross? She could already tell he was long past using sex as a weapon. 

He leant forward in an attempt to kiss her, nearly knocking them both off balance as she swayed, but she leant back and away from him. 

" _Sleep_ , Ross! You're fucked." Nudging him to shuffle back up the bed, she gave him her best smile in the hope it would make up for her rejection. Meanwhile, in the dark depths of her mind, her libido – long suppressed and ignored – screamed at her for this decision, feeling cheated, despite the fact the logical part of her knew he would never be able to get excited in his current state, anyway. She just about managed to ignore her desires, though the throb between her thighs had her not quite sure she would make it, for a moment or two.  

"Not fucked," he denied sleepily, crawling up to the top of the bed. "Wanted to fuck  _you."_ He said these words candidly as he lay his head on the pillow, laying down partially on the folded down duvet and partially on the mattress. 

She felt the weight of his earnest words on her shoulders like stone, leaving her once again doubting her position in whatever dynamic it was that had formed between them. While she was  _certain_ Ross would never take advantage of her, or simply be wanting her for sex, her insecurities screamed that this was a warning sign. 

His confession therefore fuelled her fears, as she was left temporarily winded at the foot of the bed. Inside her head, she was conflicted: the sensible, pragmatic half of her was shaking her head, dismayed that insecure still made her worry and assume and upset herself, while the timid, uncertain half added this confession to the ever-growing list of reasons why her new found 'bliss' could not last. 

 _Did_ he just want to fuck her, or was that simply his way of saying he found her as sexually attractive as she evidently did him? Would he have _tried_ to, had he not been so paralytically drunk, like he had in the pub? _Why_ had she turned him down,  _twice_ in one night, when his body was all that kept her up a night and all that filled her mind when she touched herself? 

The questions only multiplied.

Demelza was left with the realisation that the more time she spent with Ross, the more she gained questions and very little answers. 

Her heart pounding, she took in the sight of him starfished across the bed on his back and decided that it was far too late to even try and diagnose what had been said tonight. Stripping of her own dirty clothes, she applied deodorant from her bag before pulling on Francis' t-shirt, as she had no spare clean clothes of her own. 

Slowly, she crept to the bathroom down the corridor, aware that the others may now be asleep, and filled up the glass she found there with water. In the cabinet she found paracetamol and popped two from the packet before making her way back to the room. She placed the precautions for the morning down on Ross' side of the bed before creeping round to the other, turning off the lamp that lit the room. Pulling back the covers disrupted him and left her grimacing with guilt, but he didn't wake as she slipped beneath them. The bed was vast, leaving plenty of room for her to curl up in her trademark foetal position while he spread-eagle as he wished. Leaning over, her eyes adjusted to the dark and she could quite clearly make out his face, tranquil in sleep. She pushed back a curl that was almost in his eye and smoothed a hand over the stubble already beginning to shadow his jaw considerably. 

"Goodnight, Grizzly Bear," she whispered, knowing he wouldn't hear her. Leaning down, she pressed a kiss to his forehead, feeling intense, all consuming unknown emotions expand in her chest. He reacted with a hum she hadn't expected, though his face remained the same.

"Not grizzly," he protested, though his words were barely even a slur as they faded into nothing. Stifling a laugh, she took one last long look at him, thankful for the opportunity to do so unhindered.

As she lay down as close to him as she could, she let the memories of the last twenty four hours wash over her as she tried to digest all that had happened. As she looked over at the dark figure in the bed, she was struck all over again by his beauty, his dark jaw-length hair splayed across the pillow as his plump lips pouted a fraction. 

 _Judas Lord. Whatever y'think I've done to deserve him, I'm half_ _sure y'got me confused with someone else,_ she thought, despite the fact she wasn't sure she even believed in God. _Even if that is so... please don't let this stop._

* * *

She was first aware of Ross waking through a layer of light sleep, as she was conscious of him grumbling to himself, evidently having woken with a mammoth headache. He seemed to lift himself slowly rom the pillow and lean in her direction, but she was too sighed down with lack of sleep to even open her eyes. After a long pause, she felt the bed dip as he moved to sit up. She was facing away from him, curled up in her usual ball, so allowed herself to open her eyes as she listened to him. She heard him gulping the water she had left him gratefully and placed the glass back down in record time. With a tiny groan under his breath, she heard him rise from the bed and leave the room, no doubt in pursuit of the bathroom. 

She wasn't aware she had fallen back to sleep until his re-entering the room jolted her awake again. The room was blue in theme, the walls a relaxing turtle grey. White light lined the blinds at the windows, suggesting that the sun had most definitely risen. Still though, she didn't move, listening keenly as Ross lifted the duvet behind her, slipping back beneath it. 

She jumped in surprise as he the heat of his body cuddled up to hers at her back, heaving a sigh against the back of her neck. 

"Good morning," she murmured breathlessly, her eyes too heavy to keep open, aware mostly of the tickle of his leg hair as they brushed her calves.  

"Is it?" he replied with a moody darkness to his voice, evidently not at all pleased with his currently state. She ignored the pang of hurt in his voice and shuffled onto her side to face him. His eyes looked tired, even though they were closed, and the tresses about his face were messed with the telltale frizz of bed hair. Despite it all, he was devastatingly attractive, to the point that his chest ached to look at him. Gently, she burrowed her face into his chest, feeling her heart rate speed at the contact and continue to do so when he didn't push her away. "Don't be a grouch," she scorned softly, kissing the muscle beneath her head.  

His hands came to hold her against him, one on her back beneath the t-shirt that head ridden up to her waist and the other, most predictable, lay across her arse. He still barely opened his eyes. He seemed on the cusp of speaking, so she stayed quiet.

"Demelza..." he broached, his voice delightfully deep and gravelly, "whose underwear am I wearing?"

Demelza froze against his chest, flexing her fingers against his abs as she silently cringed, not looking at his face. "Dwight went to get you something and I just – we didn't have another option – "

" – _Demelza_." His voice was impatient as it cut through her rambling which told her he had all but guessed the answer.

Sighing, she gave in. "Francis'." Beneath her, he let out a frustrated groan that also spoke of anger, throwing his arm over his face. The reaction made her wary. He grumbled at the nonchalance in her reply, his fingers still making circles on the delicate velvet skin at the back of her neck. Not that she would let such tenderness distract her, though. There was an issue she needed to address first. "You were a bit of a twat, you know."

"What did I do?!" Ross didn't seem surprised. He hummed thoughtfully. "Sorry – I should have warned you. I shouldn't be allowed to mix my drinks." Pulling her back up to his eye level, he continued to speak in a low voice, as though the invisible bulb;e around them may fracture with any further volume. "What did I do?"

"Tried to jump me outside the pub toilets," she replied in a whisper, feeling the embarrassment of what happened all over again as she looked at his throat rather than his face, leaning on her elbow. 

Instantly, Ross sat up straighter, lifting himself onto his elbow to meet her. "Oh, _shit._ " Suddenly, it was as though the memory of it came back to him. He closed his eyes in what seemed to be regret, and when they opened again, they couldn't meet her eye as he hurried to kiss her face. "God, I remember now – I'm so sorry."

Demelza almost shook away his apology; she felt guilt that he even needed to give one, but then she forced herself not to give in, not to allow her desire to please him, as was her first instinct. Years of living under a strong-willed, volatile father; had made her far too submissive to men, especially those she asserted themselves. This thought was a revelation, as she had never realised it before, but now she had, she knew it was her duty to herself to teach herself to stand up for herself... even if it made her terrified to do so. "I was frightened." 

"What frightened you?" he implored hurriedly, his eyes wide with concern, now most definitely awake. 

 _Nothing_ , she nearly told him... but what she meant to say was:  _everything._ Footsteps in the dead of night, and spiders, and loneliness. Angry boys with quick hands; beautiful young women who pocketed secrets; the way things changed: always and without warning; government conspiracies; medical jargon; her father; the idea that anything at all could exist without boundaries. 

What scared her? _So_ _much_ , she thought, _so very much_.

But more than anything – “You." 

His eyes squinted, almost defensively, as shook his head, not comprehending. 

"You did frighten me, a little," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "I know you didn't mean it... but you did."

He didn't blurt out continued apologies instantly as she expected, but instead lay with a reflexive look on his face for a long moment, surveying her face.

"Forgive me, but... I'm not sure I entirely understand. What specifically frightened you?” He sat up, looking into her face, now level with his, with eyes that were heavy and imploring. "It's just... we have nights like the one at mine, and mornings like yesterday... We kiss and we touch and we – you – you don't seem at all frightened. I hate the idea I've frightened you. What's the difference with last night, other than my being drunk and stupid? I want to help – "

" – It wasn't that I didn't want it. It just... _Jesus,_ Ross, it's so complicated. I don't rightly know myself." She felt her chest seize, wishing she had never bought up the topic. "I want you so much, Ross – _so_ much it frightens me." Heat spread up over her cheeks and left unable to look at him as she settled her ear over his collarbone, but she felt his chest swell with pride and a tiny chuckle ripple in him. "But I'm not...I'm not _used_ to this, to having such base urges screaming at me, telling me to give into vulnerability, to be open with people... I suppose I have long suppressed it." 

She felt his hand caressing the base of her spine, where her t-shirt had ridden up to her waist. She appreciated the gesture as it was clear evidence of his attempts to comfort, despite his obvious _discomfort_ at the topic.

"You were forceful and unresponsive. It was like you weren't there with me and it...frightened me a bit," she finished, barely breathing now as she lay, waiting for his response. It almost _hurt_ her to be so honest, because she didn't want to upset him.

Ross backed up and pulled her up to look into her face, squinting with a look of remorse as his hands cupped her face. 

"I forget myself when we're together, sometimes – that you're not – that we're not the same, which I shouldn't, I know. I  _never_ meant to – "

" – Of  _course_ you didn't – I  _know_ that and I feel almost silly for feeling it – "

" – Don't," he defended earnestly, his usual seriousness returning to his face. "You were right to." He sighed and let his head fall back to the pillow, but not before pulling her flush against him with a kiss to the top of her head. "I should have thought. I'm a selfish prick when I'm drunk."

"Oh, I don't know," she beseeched, determined to see the best in him. " _Horny_ prick, maybe."

Cackling softly against her hair, he sighed vocally, rolling his eyes at himself. "God, was I  _that_  bad?"

She smirked as memories of his drunken self came back to her. "Worse," she confessed, smugly, closing her eyes sleepily against the warmth of chest. "Y'asked me to undress you."

A bark of a chuckle rose deep from his gut, though it was also mixed with a sound of surprise. "I did?" She hummed nonsensically and nodded against him. His fingers curled up her neck and began to play with the curls at her nape. The move settled her nerve somewhat, as she felt the shift in his mood. "And  _did_ you?"

Demelza bit her lip and grinned, feeling her heart race at the memory of him in her hands. "Yes," she replied, teasing him with a voice of nonchalance. "I did this for _you,_ Ross! I couldn't rightly leave you! Y'couldn't even undo your own shorts!"

He shifted, beckoning her to raise her head to meet him. His eyes were open now, pinched with tiredness, but alight with surprise and cheek. His mouth was slightly agape as his tongue danced on his teeth. "My, _my_ , Miss Carne," he breathed in disbelief, shaking his head against the pillow. "I hope it wasn't all too taxing for you."

Demelza shrugged teasingly, lowering her lips to his his chest. "I survived." He fidgeted, as though ticklish under the light touch of her lips. The duvet covered the lower half of his abdomen which left her slightly dismayed that she couldn't get another look at him in those tight cotton briefs. At the mere thought, she found herself squeezing her thighs together. Biting her lip, she decided to play a little by Ross' rules, for once. Staring at his hand as it lay before her face over his own stomach, feeling her nerves spike before she even said the words. "I did learn something, though..."

"Oh?" he hummed. She could hear his tiredness return to his voice and predicted that his eyes had closed again. 

It made her grin wolfishly to herself, because he wouldn't see it coming. "Not sure I'm so frightened of penis, anymore."

Beneath her, she felt him stop breathing. He cleared his throat with the telltale awkwardness of an uncomfortable English; it left her giddy to think she had finally put _him_ in the hot seat. "Excuse me?!" 

She raised herself up until she was looking down and over his face. His breathing was suddenly shallower, with increased pace. She arched a eyebrow with a simper. "You heard me, Ross." Silently, she lowered her hand between their bodies beneath the duvet, ghosting her knuckles over the bulge of cotton at his crotch. Her cheeks were hot but she made herself continue to look him in the eye, watching as his jaw fell slack a fraction and his eyes fluttered closed for the briefest second.

She could feel the heat of his through the cotton against her fingers, which she deliberately moved with the pace of a snail. 

Air whistled out his nostrils before he snapped his gaze back to her, evidently eager and intrigued by her sudden change of mood. He seemed uncharacteristically quiet as his looked up at her, as though he was almost out of place in her sudden assertion. She smiled down at him, thriving on his uncertainty, which she didn't like to admit, really.

"This is new," he whispered at her newfound confident hands and it stoked her flames even more to hear the tiny tremor in his voice.  

"I've decided not to let fear rule me so much." She could feel the skin beneath the fabric begin to pulsate with increasing strength. Ross didn't raise his face to kiss her as she thought he might, as though he was waiting for her to move first. Lowering her mouth to his, she kissed his lower lip with continued gentleness, loving the way his breath wavered against her face. 

"You move, I move." he whispered in agreement, smoothing a hand up her spine. "I remember," he smiled, almost looking human again. At the reference to their first intimacy, she simpered, delighted that he remembered.

"I'm a slow mover," she excused, apologising in code for their having to wait for her to get over her issues. "Will you wait for me?"

With that, he lowered her with a hand to her back until she met his lips. The kiss was barely there, as fleeting as a whisper in the wind, but it was followed by a cascade of more. Her hand continued to stoke him, knowing he had now begun to strain against the fabric. Still though, there was no rush. Both their breathing was near-silent and steady, as they settled into a sense of serenity that they had not reached in their previous sexual encounters. 

With a hum, his lips moved way up the side of her face, littering her skin with in a rain of kisses, light as the flutter of butterflies. Pulling back, he held her gaze for a long moment, refusing to look away.

"Of course." His voice was thick and somber, giving her evidence of the extent of his honesty. "Of _course_ I will."

"So, you don't just want me for my body, then?" she teased, though the question was in fact based in the origins of her insecurity. Ross frown was much more serious than she had expected, as he shook his head after a long moment of silence. 

"Not since the night we met and you started talking about bollocks," he joked, causing them both to laugh, breaking the tension. "I knew that any woman threatening to damage a man's bollocks in front of a stranger was a woman worth getting to know."

Demelza cackled against his shoulder as memories of that first night flooded back; the drunken creep who'd tried it on with her and gotten angry when she had refused... only for Ross to step in claiming to be her boyfriend. All that, and they had only met hours before.

"You were so kind to me that night, even though I was a stranger to you – and in such a depression," she whispered, almost to herself than to him. "Why?"

There was another long pause as he tightened his hold on her with a delightful squeeze. "Why do we do anything in life?" he replied, uncharacteristically whimsically. "I saw the look in your eyes when you were being so hard on yourself and I felt like...there was an element of kindred spirits between us, or something." Raising her eyes to his face, she could see the slight ruddiness of his cheeks. 

"I felt that, too," she replied, feeling the weight of his confession echoing through her like a siren. 

"That –  _and_ I just struck by how utterly beautiful you looked; slightly drunk with your fiery curls and honest blue eyes." Lowering himself, she felt him lay his head on hers, noting the renewed weariness in his voice as he yawned. "You said you were a virgin and it...it left me shocked, intrigued, _delighted."_

 _"Delighted?"_ she beseeched, both doubtful and unnerved by his voice of words. "Why on earth would – "

Lifting her form his chest, he pulled her up so they were side to side on his pillow. Their legs were entwined now and his arms found their way back around her middle in seconds, as though they had always settled there. His eyes were tired again, but they were bleak in their need to speak the truth, while they were still alone to do so. 

" –  _Because,"_ he halted. "Do you have any idea how _rare_ that is? To find someone willing to stand up to societal conventions and instead send up for what _they_ want?" Lifting a slow hand, he smoothed her cheek with his fingertips, the tingle of the touch leaving her no choice but to close her eyes, the sensation and the eye contact simply too much. "Demelza, I was in  _awe_ of you and I still am; your honesty, despite how I _could_ have judged you. You didn't even _know_ me and yet you told me something so _personal_ – I still don't know if that was out of honesty or...a cry for help, but either way, _god_ that makes you brave." 

She couldn't cope with the kindness of his words. They seemed to taunt and awaken the voices in her head that told her of her inadequacies. Echoes of her father's daily reminders of her failings bounced around her skull and made it hard for her to focus on his words, as though determined to drown them out. 

"Stop," she whispered, burrowing her face hastily into his neck so he would not see the tears in her eyes. His words had touched a nerve, because  _no,_ she hadn't told him her secret out of bravery, but desperation. She had worn it as a label despite her hate for it in the hope that someone, somewhere, would care enough to stick around and change it. "No more, Ross! You're far too kind to me. I can't – "

He didn't speak and simply held her as she tried to swallow the lump that threatened to close up her throat. He began to whisper to her as they lay there, leaving he no hope but to let the tears fall as quietly as she could. 

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I've upset you – but you don't have to be so brave all the time, you know," he cooed into her hair as his hands rhythmically smoothed up and down her spine. "Not for me...  I'm here, Demelza.  I promise." 

Kissing the skin beneath her mouth, she couldn't find her voice, as all her energy was not diverted into scrambling to pull her walls back up, to push the emotion she was displaying far, far away. "Thank you," she mouthed against his skin, focussing on the heat of his touch against her back, as guilt filled her that she had managed to ruin yet another moment.

"I'm sorry I'm like this," she whispered, her eyes drifting closed. 

Somewhere above her, Ross kissed her head with the fever of a man twice his age. "Don't be," he replied, though she heard him less now, "because I'm not."

* * *

Verity woke them around an hour later, reminding them both that now was the time to face the day. Demelza knew their train was soon, so she reluctantly pulled on her clothes while Ross was in the shower, desperately trying not to fall victim to her dwindling mood. 

As she made her way down the grand staircase, bag in hand, she was most surprised to be greeted by the sight of a tall, lithe young woman at the foot, looking unsure, as though waiting for someone. At the sound of Demelza's boisterous approach, she turned and it was then that Demelza recognised her. It was the woman from the provocative nude photograph; the woman who had once held Ross' heart and stomped on it. 

_Elizabeth._

"Oh – Hello," she greeted in an elegant, almost-musical middle class vernacular, much like Ross'. She evidently didn't know of Demelza's identity, she could tell that instantly, as the young woman's dark eyes held no recognition and she smiled at her with the nonchalance and politeness of a stranger. 

"Hullo," Demelza managed, feeling clumsy in her previous stomping on the stairs. As she reached the base, she hurried to the opposite wall, placing down her bag. Something about being this close to Elizabeth made her feel as though she was committing some form of betrayal. She felt awkward, as she knew of Elizabeth knew nothing of her, yet she had every reason to dislike  _her._

"I'm assuming you're Verity's friend. I'm Elizabeth – Francis' girlfriend."

Demelza felt herself almost slip at her use of that word, wanting more than anything to instantly leap to Ross' defence, but she managed to hold herself back – _just_.

"Demelza."  _Your ex's new girlfriend,_ she wanted to add, but she couldn't, because Ross hadn't used that word to her yet, so it wouldn't have felt right. If anything, it may tempt fate...which she couldn't afford. "I live with Verity."

"Ah, I see," she said, her voice perfectly balanced between polite and friendly. "Are you liking Bristol? I have yet to go to university myself."

Demelza felt her patience waning and soles herself indulge, just slightly. "Yes – I heard you went travelling," she replied, feigning nonchalance with the best polite smile she could muster. " _Thailand_ , wasn't it?"

She watched Elizabeth's mask slip a fraction as she blinked a few too many times and took an extra moment to reply. Inwardly, Demelza was pumping her fists in celebration. _Yes,_ she wanted to say.  _I know what you did._

"East Asia, yes," she finally replied, her voice giving nothing away.  Demelza took in the sight of her, all lustrous dark hair, perfectly roller-curled, and a fresh face that boasted no blemishes and also no make up on her skin, as though she was not in need of it. Demelza felt a fierce pang of jealousy at the sight, barely swallowing it down, as she herself was lucky if she woke up on a daily basis without discovering further freckles or pimples... and on one occasion, stretch marks.

 _Bet Elizabeth doesn't have stretch marks on her inner-thighs,_ she berated herself, bitterly. 

The feeling of inner doom seemed to only intensify now. She had _already_ been dismayed at the thought of having to leave this weekend behind, to have to go back to university, where she did little but work and attempt not to be jealous of Verity and Andrew's romance that played out day to day before her. 

Now, not only did she have the thoughts of leaving Ross heavy on her mind, but now unavoidable comparisons her insecurity made between herself and Elizabeth screamed to be hear, no matter how juvenile they may in fact be. After all, standing before such a refined woman made insecurities inevitable.

"Demelza!" Ross' voice rang through the house as he hollered from the first floor balcony, evidently standing at the bannister. His voice was more jovial than he had been, evidently more awake after his shower and completely unaware of Elizabeth's presence.

Elizabeth's eyes were now wide, her composure gone. She looked from Demelza toward the the direction of his voice and back again, frowning in disbelief. Momentarily, Demelza was at a loss as to what to say, without a voice. She looked wide-eyed at Elizabeth's face, feeling her fists pulsate at her sides. Just then, Francis walked in the front door, evidently carrying bags from the car. 

"Demelza?" Ross called again, followed by the sound of footsteps moving across the first floor landing. "Baby – have you seen my jumper? The Adidas one?"

The term of endearment bounced off the solid oak that covered the walls and reverberated in Demelza's chest. She felt her cheeks turn pink with the pleasure of it and instantly felt mortified that she found herself face to face with _Ross' ex_ and could do nothing to hide said fact.

 _Well, you shouldn't anyway,_ the devil on her shoulder laughed.  _You shouldn't be embarrassed. You should rub it in her face!_

As if reading her mind, Elizabeth's gaze sought hers out in the next moment, round and glassy with shock, as though she felt somewhat betrayed by Demelza's few moments of nonchalant kindness toward her. Then, they both in turn looked down at Demelza's front, where she wore the white cotton with the dark Adidas emblem, famous the world over, clearly printed across it. The sharing of clothes, Demelza had long assumed, was quite the symbol of intimacy – or so Hollywood films suggested. Ross too had expressed how the sight of her in his clothes had triggered great desire in him.

Therefore, it was littlest surprise that, at the sight, Elizabeth now looked ill, as though she had seen something she could never un-see – most likely much like Demelza must have looked upon stumbling on the nude Elizabeth photograph. 

Demelza, however, felt her selfish side win out for once, which was a rare occurrence. She felt her chest beat fast with satisfaction and pride, leaving her wanting to shout, _Yes. This is exactly what you think it is._ In that moment, Demelza decided that that very fact made this situation utterly fair game, as she realised that Elizabeth's situation was entirely a chaos she brought on _herself._ Therefore, she would taste no energy worrying about how  _she_ felt. Demelza was  _done_ feeling sorry for those who were in fact simply good at manipulation. 

"You mean, the one I'm wearin'?" she called loudly up toward the stairs, knowing he'd hear her. Francis went to speak at her side, evidently confused by the tension in his girlfriend, only for Ross to begin bounding down the stairs. Due to the curl of the staircase, he didn't see the figures at the bottom right away, and had already begun speaking. 

"You're stealing me clothes now?" he laughed. "Well what if I told you I – "

As he rounded the corner, he took in the sight before him and his speak cut out, as though he had been shocked by a thousand volts. To Ross' credit, he barely faltered in his step. At the sight of Francis' presence, he evidently could not allow himself to appear effected.

Demelza wanted to shake her head. _Men and their pride._

"There you are," he recovered, directly his speak purely towards her as he descended the stairs without one glance at Elizabeth or his cousin. He was wearing Ray Bans already, suggesting the level of his hangover. She watched his face closely, nothing without the sight of his eyes she could not tell if he was furious, as she had primarily expected him to be. When he reached her, he slipped them off though and instead she saw a slight sadness, but mostly, a coy arrogance... almost as though he was laughing at his own, entirely private, joke. 

"Ross. I... didn't know you would be here. Verity had said you were up and down to London."

Francis tried, Demelza noted,  but it would never be enough; not with ross' sharp temperament. The fairer Poldark's tone said everything that his words did not, being that he was far too posh and far to  _English_ to say what he should have said, especially with witnesses. Demelza held her breath, wishing she could be swallowed whole, as Ross steeled his face and turned to his cousin, his posture wooden, as though addressing a stranger. 

"Forgive me, Francis, but I can't stay." he paused and turned back to Demelza, a sudden ruthful smile on his lips – one she couldn't help but return. "My girlfriend has a train to catch."

She was somewhat dazed after the use of that word, as Ross leant in to take her bag from her hand and gave her a cheeky smile at the sight of his jumper on her body. Elizabeth, over Ross' shoulder, was gawping like a fish out of water, and it left Demelza feeling guilty for how little remorse she felt.

"Verity! Caroline! Let's go!" he shouted up into the house to hurry them, wincing slightly at volume of his own voice.  She stifled a giggle at his expense, which Ross returned with a cheeky pinch at her waist as they exited through the front door. 

"Ow!" she squeaked, though it hadn't hurt at all. The gravel shuffled and popped under their feet. "Don't you  _manhandle_ me, Ross Poldark!"

Ross laughed tenaciously, the sound low and filled with mischief as he moved to unlock Verity's car.  _Had he had the keys the whole time?_ "You laughed at me first!" he defended childishly, throwing the bag onto the passage seat before blocking her path before she could climb in. His eyes were tired, shadowed by circles, but they still sparkled with his trademark confidence. He was dressed in read and white plaid, the shirt reminding her of a lumberjack of some sort, rolled to the elbows and showcasing the strength of him. It also didn't skip her notice that he had left the top two buttons undone either, meaning a dark hint of his chest hair was visible. It made her mouth water, as from nowhere she began to daydream about kissing it. 

"Besides," he continued in a low voice, evidently unaware of her own mind's digression from the topic at hand. His eyes fluttered charmingly inches from her own, as though he wore a halo to match. As he spoke, he guided her towards him until there was but an inch between them. "I _like_ manhandling you." 

Demelza attempted to give him a look of scorn as she hummed disapprovingly, but the moment he kissed her, her will dissipated. After all, she knew he was teasing her, which was easy to do. 

"Don't I know it," she whispered against his lips, tugging on his shirt playfully. "Y'big _perv_."

His laughter rumbled under her hands left her shivering with delight, just as Caroline and Verity came charging from the house. 

Demelza turned, just in time to catch a flash of blue moving back through the front door, which left her feeling chronically smug.  _Evidently Elizabeth hadn't been able to resist getting a look at them._

 

Ross grumbled as Verity suggested he drive both ways, pouting about his hangover. Thus, as they all piled into the Mercedes, Demelza found herself happy in the back of the car with him. With every yard they drove, she felt her heart getting heavier with the sorrow of the impending goodbye. 

Demelza had often wondered why goodbyes were supposedly 'good', because there was nothing she hated more. 

They sat beside one another in quiet all the way; Demelza far too distracted by the newest revolution of Ross calling her his 'girlfriend'. It shouldn't be a big deal, she wanted to say to herself, but somehow it was. It was a label that would never had presumed, a label that implied commitment, exclusivity... intimacy. 

All things Demelza Carne had never known before. 

He watched her look out the window as Caroline teased him about his drunken antics, though he threw back backhanded compliments with equal wit. Her eyes were closed by the time they pulled up to Truro station, lulled by the moment of the car. Ross' hand had remained on her knee the entire way, evidently not having wanted to assert himself too much with their contact. 

If she were honest, Demelza was grateful for the reprieve, as it allowed her to think. His touch made sensible, coherent thought processes pretty much impossible and it was exhausting. 

As they got out the car, it was raining and Ross refused to let her carry her own bag into the station. Tickets in hand, they all made it onto the platform, Ross included, as the manned ticket barriers weren't 'manned' at all that day; evidence of further disruption with the ongoing privatisation of the railways. Demelza was thankful for it for once, as it meant she didn't have to say goodbye to him right then and there in front of ever-zealous Verity and loud-mouth Caroline. 

While the others bought coffee from the shop in the platform building, Demelza pretended to be calm and nonchalant, when in fact she felt as though her stomach was knotted ten ways to Sunday. Staring at the train tracks and ignoring the rain that was beginning to seep into her hair, she didn't speak as Ross came back, nursing his cup of caffeine with a grateful hum. She watched as the train pulled into the station before her and an automated voice repeated for the nth time to 'Mind the gap', suddenly feeling as though she had no control over anything. 

The train was empty and as passengers began to pile in, leaving Demelza's heart racing.  _Not yet,_ she wanted to say.  _Please, not yet._

"That's us. It doesn't leave for ten minutes, though," Verity called, instantly picking up her back and pulling her cousin in for a hug. "Now you –  _behave."_

Ross scoffed. "I always behave!" Demelza watched with a warm heart as he hugged her zealously, pressing a kiss to her head. "Thank you for the party I didn't ask for, Verity... It was very eventful."

Caroline cackled at this comment, leading to Demelza's elbow coming into contact with her ribs. 

"Goodbye Caroline," Ross added, with a stiff nod and no physical contact.

Caroline bounded up to him and kissed his cheek anyway, leaving him grumbling. "Goodbye, Poldark."

Verity then pulled Caroline away. "I'll go and find our seats, 'melza!" Verity called as she made her way to the train door, dragging a reluctant Caroline along behind her. 

Once they were alone, Demelza was conscious of her heavy breathing, of the raindrops now soaking her feet and her hair, even running down her nose. Ross' body emulated warmth from her side and left her shuddering a little. Slowly, they looked to one another and remained very still, both now becoming soaked with the rain. His eyes were gazing over her face, from her eyes down to her lips and back again, which she had come to learn meant he wanted her to kiss him.  _God,_ how she wanted to kiss him, but they were surrounded. Over Ross' shoulder, there were a group of giggling girls, most likely only just eighteen, eyeing him up from behind. 

Shifting on her feet, she felt her insecurity rise like vomit, leaving her no choice but to look away from him where he couldn't see her sadness. 

"I should go," she said, attempting to sound merry. So he wouldn't initiate a kiss, she found herself hurrying to hug him, the contact far too rushed and far,  _far_ too brief. "Don't want to miss my train – not at least prices."

 _But I do,_ she almost said.  _I really do... then I could stay._

"No, no, you don't," he agreed, clearing his throat and nodding. "I've had a surprisingly wonderful weekend, thanks to you," he murmured. "I'll see you soon."

"Bye, Ross." She didn't allow herself a lingering look at him, but turned hastily and picked up her bag. Her chest hurt and her eyes were scratchy, and she could tell if it was the wind or the arrival of tears. Betraying herself to keep it together, she took a step toward the train.  

She only managed a few metres up the platform before she found herself turning of her own accord. Inside her head, she was somewhat aware of the sensible voice, the one that kept her hidden behind steel walls for her own emotional protection, was screaming at her to stop, to walk back toward the train and not play with fire – but, if there was one thing Ross Poldark had made her, it was an pyromaniac. 

She closed the gap between them in a second flat, with him already coming to meet her. Her bag hit the cement of the platform with a dull thud as she launched herself into his embrace, her arms almost a chokehold around his neck. 

"Please ask me to stay," she whispered against his neck, half expecting her words to have gone unheard due to the volume of the rain hitting the tin roof above.

Ross didn't pull back as she expected, but squeezed her hard in the strength of his arms. "You know I would, Demelza... but I _can't_."

He didn't say anything more, because what else was there to say? This was a level of maturity in Ross that Demelza now recognised she did not possess yet: accepting life for what it was, even when it couldn't go your way.  After all, he was right. She needed to finish her course, to get her degree, so she could reach her dream.  _That_ was what was truly important for now.

"You called me your girlfriend," she breathed into the small pace between them, looking down at her hands to keep from looking at him. Somehow, she managed to voice her next biggest fear. "That wasn't just to upset Elizabeth, was it?" Before he could reply, she launched on the defensive, self consciously. "Because it crossed my mind!"

Ross did laugh, but his words were filled with denial. "No – that's just a happy side point." Peeping her eyes up enough to look at his face, she smiled in spite of herself, her cheeks so warm that she had to cover them with her hands, which made them both chortle and made Ross coo at her. Water droplets fell from his curls, distracting her. Reaching up, she allowed herself to smooth them back and basked in the subsequent tender look in his eyes. She laughed at the level of moisture they had retained as she touched them and the frizz that, despite it, still remained.

"Ring me when you get back," he pressed gently, smoothing back her wet hair in return with a sniff, "so I know you're safe."

His words almost had her on her knees. No one had ever been volleyed concern for her safety like that before.

"I will," she coughed, hoping to cover the crack of emotion in her voice.  Ross gave her a smile that was ever-confident, but it also didn't skip her notice that his hands were touching her, moving over her arms and around the curve of her waist in an almost continuous motion, as though he didn't want to let go. "I'll see you soon." The words were a vow, or at least felt like one, because she had every intention of doing.

Clearing her throat, she had to bite her lip as he lifted his lips and pressed a kiss to her forehead as air whistled up through his nose, as though breathing in the scent of her one last time.  The girls over his shoulder were now watching intently, evidently having hoped, by the way they instantly averted their eyes as Demelza looked at them, that herself and Ross were not involved. This, of course, only spurred her on. 

Afterward, he sighed and stepped back, politely respecting their new rule on intimate contact. It was enough to make her want to give him a parting gift. 

Reaching between them, she caught his neck to pull him back to her, inches from his face. The back his neck was warm, despite the rain, and the curls there tickled her fingers. She toyed with them, delighting in the way he fidgeted slightly under her touch. 

"You call  _that_ a kiss?" she purred playfully inches from his lips. Pulling him down to her, she eagerly brought his mouth to hers in a move that, prior to this weekend, she could never been brave enough to initiate, never mind in public. But now? Now there was a desperation about her, constantly, as though Ross left her both complete and incomplete, because while he give her such joy, she felt she could never get close enough. Her whole body ached;  _she_  ached as if there were a terrible hollow emptiness inside her. The faint shine of warm, caramel brown beneath his half-closed lids; the shadow of light stubble across his jaw where twenty-four hours of growth already added handsome definition to his features, all made her want to both squirm and stay frozen still. But, more than anything else, she clenched up eyes shut in a diligent attempt to memorise the feeling of his mouth; the crescent shape of it, the slight uneven nature to the shape of his bottom lip, the pressure, the heat that left near-static sensations in its wake. 

His lips brushed across hers, she reached for him as if she would otherwise drown. For a moment, their mouths pressed hotly together, barely moving, as Ross' free hand tangling into her hair. Demelza felt herself gasping when his arms went around her as tightly as they did, the cotton of his comfy jumper snagging downward as he pulled her hard against him. Their kiss was delicate somehow, despite the rekindled heat that fuelled it, as though burning with such tenacity that anything too violent would trigger a single spark into a forest fire, without hope of containment. They both seemed aware of this, as the kiss was fractured, both pulling back for air after long, _precious_  moments only to reposition and repeat the same moment over again. 

In that _one_ moment – despite the rain, the clock and prying eyes – Demelza was sure she was more conscious of the very _essence_ of Ross than she had ever been of anything or anyone else in her entire existence – which for someone as  _self_ conscious as herself, was quite a statement to make. 

In that moment, there was no boundary between them, as she became unaware of where he ended and she began.

Until, of course, the conductor blew his whistle... and with it, their bubble burst. 

Pushing her back, Ross heaved as though his chest hurt. "Go!" he urged, picking up her bag and moving with her the few metres to the train door. Demelza felt it rising, the inevitable wave of tears, but managed to press them down. Spinning on her heel, she gave him one last squeeze. 

"I'lll miss you," she confessed against his ear, taking the deep over the foot gap between the platform and the train so she was finally aboard. Stood on the platform but a metre away, he silently nodded in response to this, which didn't surprise her. He  _was_ English, after all, so he had to have some emotional reservations.  

As she stood on the train, looking at him through the open door, she was hit with a realisation. She was still wearing his jumper! "Oh! Ross! Your jumper!" she exclaimed, taking a handful of it at her front, feeling guilty for not giving it back sooner.

"You look after it for me!" he called over the gap between them, his eyes locked with hers. "It looks better on you, anyway!"

Rolling her eyes at this, quite obvious, lie, she bit her lip. "Liar!"

His somber expression warmed instantly as he barely stopped himself from laughing, and suddenly it was as though they weren't saying goodbye on a very grey, rainy day and she felt just a little bit lighter.  He mouthed a delightfully shy _'bye,'_ just before she disappeared into the train, self consciously attempting to edge her way down the narrow aisle to find the others without hitting anyone with her bag. 

It was Verity's grinning face she saw first, waving her over to their table seat. Throwing the bag in the overhead shelf, Demelza thumped herself down by the window. She could barely breathe, as was the way when attempting to hold in tears; they seemed to make one's chest and throat ache and burn, making talking near impossible. 

"You two!" Verity sighed opposite her, her face looking dreamy as she glanced down at her novel. "I'm so happy things are going...how they're going."

Caroline made a noise of approval beside her, rising her eyes from her copy of Vogue to wink at her. "That kiss seemed to  _go_ , too, didn't it?"

Demelza just blushed and looked down at her ticket, chronically aware that Ross could still on the platform, just metres from her now, on the other side of the glass. She daren't look out though, in case he wasn't. The trained roared to life as Demelza succumbed to laughed at her friend's eager questions, thankful that finally the lump in her throat began to dissipate. 

However, as the carriage lulled forward, signally they were finally on their way, she  _did_  give in to temptation, despite all of her mental efforts to focus on conversation – like an addict, the prospect of setting eyes on Ross one last time simply too tempting. 

She, and the other two alike, turned to seek out that one familiar face out the window and, to her immense relief, they found him in a nanosecond; his plaid shirt, bronze completion and  _ridiculous_ head of curls making him stand out against his surroundings like he always did.  Demelza waved shyly, knowing her friends would be watching and no doubt casting their own mental aspersions on the whole thing and with a great sigh of relief, she watched as, in a flash, he waved back at her with his usual, close-mouthed, sheepish smile he donned to hide his true passions to the world. 

Then, just like that, she was no longer staring out at a platform, but seemingly endless green and rain... and a dark, handsome man in plaid was smiling at her no more.  


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thank you to my pals @loveofmylonglife, @genie1960 & @iorwen for listening to my continuous musings about where these two are going. 
> 
> Also, a big thank you to all those who continue to leave comments and kudos. I am so glad this lil fic bunny that had rooted itself in my brain is entertaining people other than me. <3

**_"I personify the ‘adolescent on a phone’_**  
_Speaking like I’m bigger than my body._  
**_I personify that lack of freedom in your life,_**  
_And I'm sure she'll be gone in a second..._  
  
_Let me tell you 'bout this girl:_  
**_I thought she'd rearrange my world._**  
**_Takes a particular type of girl,_**  
**_To put my heart under arrest._**  
_**So why is this feeling on my chest?**  
_  
_(This must be my dream)_  
**_Wide awake before I found you_**  
_(This must be my dream)_  
**_'I can't wait for you, boy,'_**  
_(Wake me from my dream)_  
**_What does all our love amount to?_**  
_(This must be my dream)_  
  
**_We can't make love  
_**_when you_   ** _fly around me baby."_**

_– '[ **This Must Be My Dream'** \- The 1975](https://play.spotify.com/track/42PHzFk7j5Jo2Rtj78JsWV)_

* * *

  _[](https://play.spotify.com/track/42PHzFk7j5Jo2Rtj78JsWV)_

* * *

When Demelza had got home that night, she barely made it to her bedroom to throw down her bag before she gave into the urge to pick up the phone. 

Therefore, when the phone rang and rang, she couldn't quite believe it. The dialling tone echoed through her as she stood, staring at the wall, internally begging him to answer. However, before long, the electronic answering machine picked up instead, leaving a cold feeling of panic in her heart. Instantly, she put down the phone on it's hook before dialling again, her hand curled anxiously into the coiled wire as she attempted to calm her heart. 

 _Pick up, Ross._ Hurt was already beginning to threat her very breathing.  _You asked me to call. Pick up!_

"Hello. I'm sorry, but the person you've called is not available – "

She threw down the phone onto the receiver and backed up against the wall for a long moment, desperately confused.  _Why didn't he answer?_ He _asked_ her _to ring!_

"That was quick," Verity commented, chewing on an apple as she came out the kitchen. "What did lover boy have to say for himself?"

Demelza squinted, not wanting to have to speak the words aloud. Was she being oversensitive for feeling put out by this?  What did it mean?  Did this mean he didn't miss her?! Inwardly, she cringed at the direction her thoughts were taking. _God!_ she groaned. She  _hated_ what this was doing to her, making her needy and internalise the most insignificant details. 

"He didn't answer," she mumbled distractedly, hurrying away from the phone, as though it was now a cursed object.

"He didn't?" Verity sounded just as surprised, until she let out a laugh and added, "That boy! He  _never_ answers his landline. I keep hoping he'll buy one of the new Nokia mobiles – you know the ones? At least then he would have to take the phone  _with_ him!"

Demelza was barely listening to her friend's usual chatter, as she was having to concentrate very hard in order not to overthink what had happened. 

"Don't worry, Demelza," Verity assured nonchalantly as she went to turn on her expensive CRT television. The newsreader's voice suddenly filled the room, discussing Queen's first visit to Ireland since the IRA ceasefire the previous year, though it offered Demelza no welcome distraction. Verity, on the other hand, was no longer looking at her. "He loves to go swimming and running. Try in an hour or so!"

But she did, and there was still no answer. By now, it was past seven o'clock and Demelza could feel the weekends antics weighing down on her shoulders.

"Ross – it's Demelza," she muttered into the receiver, before managing to make it up the stairs, narrowly avoiding Verity and Andrew locked in a romantic cuddle in front of the television.  "Y'asked me to call you, so... well, I am. Um..." Her fist squeezing at her side with nervous energy, she sighed. "I'm exhausted, so, I'll talk to you soon, I guess." 

Upstairs in her room, Demelza was practically a zombie as she stripped for a shower, almost falling to her death over the bathmat. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she stopped short at the sight of her own reflection, taking in the slight marks at her collarbone and the very top of her left breast, the only evidence that Ross had ever touched her; the only evidence of the magnitude of the weekend past. Neither looks like bite marks, but she knew of their intimate origins none the less. She would have said, if she had been asked but hours ago, that she was thankful for them, not wanting to forget the life-changing weekend – but now? Now she was not sure _what_ they reminded her of. 

Under the water, she tilted her face under the blast and turned the temperature to as hot as she could take it, willing herself not to think of the man she left behind in Cornwall, or the hot touch of his insistent hands, as she would only be torturing herself. That said, her hand found itself travelling below her naval, in spite of her mind's will for any and all fantasies to seise.  

Her lack of will though, whether she liked it or not, whether  _upset_ with him or not, simply proved his influence over her, both mentally and physically. 

She found her release was barely adequate, leaving her filled to the brim with despondence as she shuffled to the comfort of her bed, basking in the familiar comfort of her own duvet. She slept without pyjamas, as she liked to do in the sanctity in her own space, though all such home comforts did little to combat the intoxicating, consuming dreams that followed; leaving her stranded on an island built on plaid shirts and sweet smiles, feeling like a feather in the wind.

 

The next day, she made her way to her lectures with the renewed determination to focus on her studies, having banned all thoughts of Ross until she had made some progress with her weekly reading for the seminars. Evidently, it didn't work entirely, but she was proud of herself as she continuously caught herself before her thoughts digressed too far, allowing her to return at the end of the day feel considerably proud of herself.  This time to reflect also made her heart grow fond again, as she began to gentle tease herself for thinking so sourly of the world  _just_ because one damn man didn't answer his phone. She had begun to realise how silly and juvenile that kind of behaviour was, and more importantly, that it was the kind of behaviour Ross would certainly not fall victim to. 

Thus, as she made the twenty minute walk back to her student lodgings, she didn't mind so much that her throat scratched and her head still throbbed slightly, as it was the price of a head day's work, despite a wild weekend. 

She unlocked the door hastily against the slight chill in the late afternoon air, closing it behind her. Verity's voice could be heard as she spoke on the landline, the wire to which having been stretched as far from it's wall socket as it could go, so that she could lounge in her usual spot in the living room. 

"...'s as though she is  _trying_ to make this awful for both of you!" Verity's seminars never ran as late as Demelza's and she would frequently be found in this same position, gossiping on the phone until Demelza returned for her to talk to – so much so that she would never hear when Demelza had arrived. "Surely, she can't be so ridiculous!" 

Demelza continued to overheard this one-sided tale, barely listening as she concentrated on unlacing her boots by the door, rolling her eyes. 

"Ross – you – you mustn't say that, not even about Elizabeth!"

Suddenly, like the sound of a horn to a foxhound, Verity's words were all she could hear, despite the white noise of the TV and the kettle boiling loudly in the kitchen. She froze, replaying her words in her head, uncomprehending.  _Ross?_ _Talking about..._ Elizabeth?

"I know you don't want to think so, but I don't think she ever meant – _exactly!"_ Verity let out a huff of surprise. "Well, maybe she means it!"

 _This is it,_ a voice inside Demelza began to despair.  _She's talked him round... He'll go back to her... and be leaving me._

"Well did she  _say –_?" Verity was evidently being interrupted, as she huffed frustratedly and stopped. Inside her head, Demelza was creaming for her to finish, because Verity was unknowing telling her truths she seemed to never hear otherwise. "No, yes – yes, I can see how that's wrong." 

Barely able to swallow, Demelza tip toed in her socks toward the living room door, wanting to hear better. 

"I know, but _Ross –_ she's my friend – " She paused. "I understand." Demelza held her heart hammering in her chest, so loud she was conscious that Verity might hear her in her hiding, as she continued to listen, enamoured. She heard Verity sigh deeply, signally that the conversation may be reaching a natural break. "At the end of the day, you can't help who you want, can you? What else is there to say?" 

Her good mood gone, Demelza threw her weight into her next footsteps, making a very clear and loud signal of her entrance. She felt sick to her core, feeling as though as though her dream had been snatched from her hands, before she had even held it firm. 

"Oh – hang on, Ross –  _Hi Demelza!"_

Her friends tone left her with a confused frown, as this instantly change in her voice seemed to imply the conversation she had overheard was one that Verity did not wish to continue with her around.  Sorrow filled her heart further.   _This really was it, then._

The petite Poldark was laying horizontally across her usual armchair, phone against her ear. However, at the sight of Demelza, she smiled eagerly. "Sure, one second – " Much to Demelza's dread, Verity now held the phone out for her to take. "It's Ross."

Her gut swirled, not wanting to take the phone and face whatever was coming, but her friend looked at her expectantly, unaware of her anguish. With a gulp, she took the phone in an unsteady hand. 

"Hi," she whispered, turning and unwinding the wire from around the furniture to expend some of her nervous energy. 

 _"Hi."_ His tone seemed shy, which was unsurprising to her. She herself hated talking on the phone.  _"How are you?"_

"Alright," she answered mutely, not even continuing herself. "Just been at lectures all day. Yourself?"

_"Good – I'm headed to London to speak with the bank about my father's affairs – or what's left of them."_

Demelza hummed, not really knowing what this meant. Once her back was on Verity, hidden away in the corridor, she let the words flow. 

"I rang you, last night, like you asked – "

 _" –_ Shit _– I'm sorry! I had a run-in with Elizabeth and had to go running to cool off."_

Her name echoed through Demelza's entire frame like a siren. "Elizabeth?" She barely managed to say her name; visions of her softness and natural beauty casting a dark shadow over her mood. "What happened?"

His sighed darkly, sounding impatient with the topic. _"Just her usual rubbish; how sorry she was, yada, yada."_ He then laughed sourly. _"She even told me it was inconsiderate of me to bring you to Trenwith without warning her!"_

The scoff that left her throat was uncharacteristically snide, but Demelza was already beginning to realise that Elizabeth brought out the worst in her. "Why on  _earth_ would you have to do that? Is she  _serious?_ It's  _your_ cousin's house!"

 _"But also her_ boyfriend's _house – whom I am not speaking to."_ He paused, his tone surprisingly calm. _"I suppose I can see her point."_

His conceding rose her hackles. "You're taking her side?" Swallowing down the hurt growing in her chest, Demelza had to hold down her anger. 

"Side?" She instantly didn't like his tone, as he sounded as though he was laughing at her. _"Demelza, we're not twelve – "_

" –  _Don't_ patronise me, Ross," she snapped instantly, as it was one of her greatest pet peeves. She felt her skin flush hot as she realised the sharpness of the words that had rushed from her mouth, having not intended to snap at him. 

 _"Sorry,"_ he replied defensively. _"But, I see why she reacted that way. It was no doubt a shock for her, to meet you like that."_

"Her? A shock for _her?"_ Demelza felt the ignorance of his statement to her core.

 _"Demelza – calm down – please!"_ He sounded bemused by her volatile reaction. _"I just meant... Elizabeth's a very..._ delicate _person. She's not strong like you – "_

" –  _Delicate?"_ Demelza couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. It has been one day,  _one day,_ and she had already gotten back under his skin! "Ross! She  _cheated_ on you! With your cousin!"

He made a noise of irritation as his voice shifted from defensive to snappy. _"Yes, I am aware of that, Demelza – "_

" – Then why the  _hell_ do you care for _her_ discomfort?!" While she hadn't risen her voice, there was not a palpable tension between them as the phone line crackled. Fuck _her_ discomfort!  "What about  _me?"_  Her hands shook as she willed herself to calm, to not take his words personally, to step back and think it through. All this was much easier said than done however, and she found herself firing her words regardless.

 _"What are you talking – ?"_ he began.

" – While I was worrying about you, wondering why you didn't answer your phone, you were talking to _her!_  Letting her talk you out of your anger – "

_" – You don't know what you're talking about – !"_

" – Oh, of _course_! Silly little virgin! What would I know?!"

 _"Oh, come of it, Demelza!"_ he rejected, hotly. "You know _that isn't what – !"_

"You think this was easy for me, to be faced with your _ex girlfriend_ without notice, standing there in all her flawless beauty, knowing all I know about her?" The words came flowing from her in a near-hysterical wave. "Not once have you asked _me_ how  _I felt_ during that who encounter, yet you seem awfully concerned at the idea that  _Li'le Miss Proper_ felt the slightly bit out of place!"

 _"Because there's no need!"_ Ross replied, his tone defensive. _"Why on earth would you have felt uncomfortable? Elizabeth said herself she thought you were very nice – "_

Shaking her head, Demelza could feel the conversation beginning to circle. Sighing, she swallowed down her desire to scream  – _just_. "Judas, you don't get it, do you?!"

 _"Get_ what _?"_ She heard him heave, exasperated. _"What have I done wrong now – ?!"_

She felt her pulse in her temples as hurt her breathing laboured as he discounted her so easily. "She's making a fool of you!"

_"I can look after myself, Demelza."_

"Oh my  _god,_ this isn't about you – !" she beseeched in pure, unfathomable frustration.

 _" – Oh, I'm sorry!"_ he sniped. _"Forgive me if I'm struggling to understand the_ idiocy _of this conversation!"_

Suddenly hit with the urge to cough, Demelza had to take a moment to clear the tickle in her throat. Shaking this the virtuosity of her outrage, she felt her desire to speak with Ross disappear entirely. "Then let me make this easy for you!" 

Slamming the phone down on the receiver, she stormed back through the living room, ignoring Verity, and continued up into her bedroom, where she slammed the door hard. Throwing herself onto the bed, she let herself scream, the sound insulated almost completely by the pillow beneath her head. 

She was hit with realisation as she cried tears of anger that this had been the _true_ risk of involving herself with a soul as passionate as Ross Poldark; he was strong in his convictions, so it was unsurprising that, deep down, he did not possess the desire to think badly of the woman he once loved.

While she was capable of rationalising what has just occurred, that didn't mean it hurt any less. It was clear that he was making excuses for her, whether he intended to or not, and this only fed Demelza's intense insecurity that he would wake up one morning and realise the error of his choice of girlfriend and run back to her. She felt sorrow constrict her chest. It felt so cruel, that she had barely a day in the position of Ross Poldark's 'girlfriend' before an inevitable barrier had arisen and driven a riff between them. 

A etherial, _beautiful,_ unattainable barrier that went by the name of Elizabeth. 

Verity lectured Demelza for her hasting tongue, but his lectures were all the most steen when she rang Ross back the next day. Demelza sat upstairs, listening to her friend's attempt to play devil's advocate, no longer caring whether she was successful.

"He's a hasty twat, sometimes," Verity grumbled when she came into Demelza's room later. "I _tried_ to tell him not to talk about her with you –  _tried_ to explain how it would feel to you – but now he's put his foot down, it'll take a while." 

Sat side by side on her bed, Verity attempted to comfort her friend with a cuddle at her side. "He's a stubborn _arse_ , that's what he is," she mumbled in agreement against her pillow, not looking up from her novel because if she did so, she would cry again.

Verity sighed, because it was all true, as much as she wished it wasn't. 

* * *

Ross was left chronically frustrated and confused for the rest of the week, as he desperately tried to grapple with what, and quite  _how,_ the argument with Demelza had managed to happen. 

They had been in _such_ a good place when she had left; they'd finally begun to feel like a unit for the first time. He had been ambushed by Elizabeth upon his return to Trenwith with Verity's car. This, combined with his melancholy upon saying goodbye to Demelza, riled him into a fury beyond measure. He had stalked off and run the distance home to Nampara, basking in the burn of his muscles. By then, he'd forgotten about his spontaneous request for Demelza to call him, and left straight into the shower for a long, _long_ soak.  

Now, it was Saturday, six days since Demelza had gone back to Bristol and five after their disagreement, and he was beginning to feel guilty for the conversation that left a rift between them. The more he had run it over, the more he had realised that perhaps the very fact he had to take so many days to think on it was part of the problem. Surely, if it was enough to upset Demelza into silence, then it must have been _worth_ being upset over, as she did not seem the type to hold a grudge. 

Verity had given him an earful the previous evening,  _again,_ to see the error of his ways; pressing that, should the topic of Elizabeth come up again, he shouldn't, as she so eloquently put it, 'put his foot in it' again.

"She was so defensive, Ver. I don't – "

" – Well, of course you don't  _get_ it, you  _pillock!"_ his cousin had scolded. "You haven't bloody  _asked!"_

After that, it was as though he had been hit over the head with an awakening and had spent the next night trying to formulate the best way to apologise. He  _had_ asked for her to come to the phone right then and there, but she had refused – not that he blamed her. Now, as Saturday morphed into Sunday, he was anxious to get on and resolve their issues. As he lay in his bedroom, no longer was it a sanctuary, for it now reminded him entirely of both Elizabeth  _and_ Demelza, who had both, in such varied circumstances, laid dow beside him in that same bed. 

He was struck again by the way his mind had shifted, for where once Elizabeth's image would have been pinnacle and paramount, Demelza's likeness instead filled every nook and cranny. His pillow case still smelt of her, of the floral, fragment scent of her hair mixed with his own shampoo. He found he didn't have the heart to change it. Thus, he found himself changing all the sheets but the two pillow cases, falling victim to a renewed sense of romanticism – the like to which he had not felt since he was sixteen and foolish. 

He thought of her actions in that very bed a week before: the hesitation; the need for him to close his eyes when she talked him; the chronic uncertainty... and a wave of enlightenment seemed to hit him. He had  _known_ it was all new to her, of course he had, but he hadn't quite foreseen that when she said it was  _all_ new, she had meant 'all'. What with her utterly astounding, breath-snatching  _beauty,_ he had simply assumed that when she said she was a virgin, she had not meant  _entirely._

Again, this was evidence of his rash thinking, his hasty decisions, getting him into trouble. The poor girl was new to the _entire_ experience of dating, in its entirety, and he had not only initiated their first step of intimacy while she wasn't sober, but then assumed of her enough emotional maturity to deal with his  _ex._ All of which sounded, the more he mulled over it, incredibly shortsighted on his part. 

That being said, they would, at some point, have to address the issue of Elizabeth again – if only to put it to bed, once and for all – and this was a prospect he did not relish.  

He thought back over their disagreement; Demelza's surprisingly sharp, venomous tongue and judgement of a woman she had met for all of two minutes having been completely unexpected to him. He hadn't expected such passionate distaste from her, or such contempt, but somehow he now felt he was foolish to have assumed  _anything._ After all, if there was one thing he had learned in his life, it was to never underestimate _anyone_... but especially beautiful women. 

He kept himself busy that weekend, going for long runs on the beach before getting bogged down in phone calls and faxes for the Grace Poldark Foundation, as now was solely his responsibility. Well, it had been long before his father's death in actual fact, but now it was also his on paper. As Jane, the charity's secretary at its office in London, was on the telephone bleated reasons why they had to move one of their charity events to a week on Thursday, as oppose to Thursday week, as was planned, he rubbed his furrowed brow in building frustration. 

He didn't _want_ to be here. As much as he was passionate about his work fundraising against the terrors of leukaemia and other cancers, he dismayed that he was now the sole leading voice of the foundation and therefore had to deal with the ludicrous pedantic details such as which day the fundraiser had to take place. Snappily agreeing to everything she suggested, he put down the phone and groaned, feeling exhaustion weight down his shoulders as his eyes had become heavy. 

He had been deliberately avoiding his bed, as it made him  _want_ for Demelza  _desperately,_ so had risen just the rising of the sun. Blinking at the grandfather clock across the room, he could barely believe it was only six o'clock in the evening, as he had felt as though he had been awake forever. 

The phone screeched life again beside him, making him jump as he hung his head in his hands. 

"Hello – Ross Poldark," he grumbled, blinking in an attempt to awaken his attention. 

"Hi, you," came Verity's greeting, though the usual sickening-sweet chipper tone to it was missing. Instantly, he knew something was not right. 

"What is it?" he questioned lowly, sitting up straight with a white knuckle grip on the edge of his father's mahogany desk. "Has something happened?"

"Not exactly. Don't worry yourself," she assured, though Ross wasn't even sure she believed her own words. 

"Verity, _tell me._ I can tell something's wrong – " he began, ready to fight her tooth and nail for her confession. 

" – It's nothing like that, Ross," she sighed, sounding weary. "Demelza's poorly, that's all, so I don't think I'm going to be able to organise that garden party quite yet – "

Instantly, Ross was barely listening. " – What's wrong?" he blurted, hurriedly. "Is she okay?!" He had to squash a sudden urge to ask a thousand questions. 

"Not really. She has a high fever and hasn't left her bed all day," she described grimly, her words echoed through him, seeming to wedge themselves between his ribs as he struggled to breathe evenly, "So I'm going to stay and keep an eye on her."

Laying back in the large leather office chair, Ross sighed and scrubbed over his face again, taking a long pause as guilt swamped him like he was trending water. 

"She's been asking about you," Verity added, filling the thoughtful silence, before letting out a giggle. "Interspersed with insults, of course." 

Ross snorted, imagining Demelza's sharp-tongued remarks about him, accompanying with her stiff pout and cutely furrowed brow, knowing he deserved any and all scorn she should give. "I was a twat, wasn't I?" 

"Yup," Verity agreed with a grateful tone. "Thank god you've realised it. I was ready to come down there and slap you silly!" A scuffle sounded in his ear, crackling echoing down the line as he could hear the sound of muffled voices and movement. Then – "Ross, I have to go. Demelza's been sick. Can I call you back?"

Something in him was jarred, as though a silent siren was warring within his skull, leaving him unable to sit still. Images of Demelza unwell left him in a cold sweat as he felt the suddenly guttural drive to run to her. The feeling shocked him, leaving him standing between the office chair and the desk with the phone limply at his ear. Could he sit here, with nothing but office work to keep him busy, while Demelza suffered only three hours away? 

Feeling his chest rise and fall in quick succession, mental visions of the beauty of Demelza's heart-shaped face miserable with sweat and a sickly parlour leaving him feeling guilty beyond measure. 

 _No,_ he decided in that moment.  _He couldn't._

Instantly, his mind began to formulate ways in which he could make it happen. There would be trains into the evening... but at this time of night it would take much less effort for him to drive. That, and he was craving the drive. It would give him hours to formulate what on earth he would say when he arrived...  _if_ she'd even speak to him. 

"Don't worry about it, Ver," he hummed distractedly, snatching up his keys from the desk with a deep, cathartic breath. "See you soon."

Hurrying out of the office, he chased up to his room to pack a bag with a quick glance at the clock. The hum of anticipation, nerves and excitement settled into his veins as he began to contemplate what he was about to do. Settling into his car, the roar of the engine mimicked the leap of his heart as he moved into first gear. 

 _I'll see you sooner than you think._  

* * *

Verity had begun pacing, which she didn't do often, as she hated to think her friend was suffering and there was nothing she could do. Demelza had complained all week that she felt under the weather, but it was days before Verity had begun to feel concerned. She came home to find that Demelza hadn't made it to lectures that Friday and was instead burrowed beneath her duvet and an extra woof blanket, shivering as though she had no covers at all. 

Over the next day, she had practically had to force feed Demelza pints of water, as she had quickly become too weary to want to sit up. She could hear her shuffling around through the wall, wracked with a cough and shuffling as she continuously attempted to get comfortable. Verity had managed to get her to move downstairs so she wouldn't end up with bedsores and then, once she was curled up on the settee, tried to make her eat something, but she had made quick work of vomiting it back up, just as she had got round to ringing Ross. She felt guilty that was she was going to have to postpone her panning of the garden party she promised for his foundation, but it seemed inevitable. She was somewhat behind on her last few assignments and what with Demelza feeling ill, Verity felt guilty if she did not care for her. After all, Demelza had no one else. 

"Who were you talking to?" Demelza slurred as Verity made her way back into the room, her face just visible out of her blankets.

"Oh, um... Ross," she replied, settling down in her chair with her library book. It didn't skip her notice that her friend's face flinched with the first hint of animation in a long while at the mention of her cousin, though it quickly dissolved into sadness.

"What'd he say?"

"That he was a twat," Verity replied earnestly with a sigh. "You really should let him explain himself, Dem. I know he's an idiot but he gets it eventually!"

Demelza whimpered mournfully, fidgeting further into her cocoon, still to open her eyes. "I don't know, Ver." Sounding on the verge of tears, Verity watched as her friend continue to shiver despite the slight sheen of preparation on her forehead. "I just dun'no." With a throaty cry, Demelza spoke as though she were almost talking to herself, appearing even more distant than before. "He doesn't want me... Why would he?" 

Verity had already begun trying to protest, but her interruptions seemed to fall upon deaf ears thanks to her friend's fever and deep-seated melancholy. 

"No one ever wants me when there are Elizabeth's out there..." she whispered, turning away from Verity completely. "Don't know why I bothered..."

Verity sighed, knowing that in her current state there was no point arguing with Demelza, as she seemed to now be muttering to herself. The young Poldark found herself dismaying at the sight, knowing there was nothing at all she could do to lift her friend's mood, much less her illness. After all, she had been close with her cousin all her life and therefore witnessed the entirety of his love life. She knew better than anyone the all-consuming quicksand that his relationships had a tenancy of becoming... whether he wished it so or not. It would take a slight miracle for Demelza and Ross to be compatible, she was beginning to realise, as they were opposites in almost every way. 

Despite that fact, she would root for them with all she had, she decided, moving to brew more tea, because if there was one thing they both deserved, it was the good in one other. 

* * *

Demelza couldn't remember the last time she had been ill. When she was still living at home, she simply did _allow_ herself to get ill, because being ill would mean days at school becoming _even greater torture –_ _and_ would mean she couldn't keep an eye on Tim, as was her prerogative.  

Thus, when sickness did arrive, it tended to hit her hardest and leave her out for the count for days. At first, she had tried to power through it, burying herself in her library books, but soon reading became too difficult, making her feel considerably woozy. Therefore she was left frustrating idle, which she couldn't  _stand,_  with nothing but festering insecurities and despondent misery for her mind to focus on. Her skin was hot to touch and she could feel that the curls at her forehead sticking to her with sweat, but her nerves told her she was cold, as she shivered beneath the blankets and her scalp continued to prickle. 

As she lay on the settee, sounds from the television became distorted with her dreams as she began to drift into uncomfortable sleep, disrupted by the haze of her fever. When Verity had told her she had been speaking with Ross, she felt any walls she had had begin to crumble entirely as she pressured herself to fall under again. Shivering, she became buried under mental images of Ross and his disinterest, yearning for him deep in her chest. _Never_ had she even _had_ anyone to crave in a crisis before, so she was most surprised at first to feel such an intense need for him in a moment of weakness. After all, she usually did all she could to hide her weaknesses, in particularly from men, not _crave_ them near when she was at her most vulnerable.

She struggled with all her might to hold onto sleep, but her worries seemed too loud and her throbbing head rendered her desperate. She whimpered as she shifted beneath the blankets, aware of the sweat that made her t-shirt cling to her beneath Ross' jumper, which she had pulled on in urgent attempt for comfort. She couldn't remember the last time she felt this awful, all her muscles weighed down as though her entire body was now made of lead, while her head throbbed and her throat felt like sandpaper. 

Sickness like this, no matter how generic is seemed on paper, always felt as though it had no end. So severe were her symptoms in that moment, the thought crossed her mind had never felt so hopeless. 

There was further movement in the room, though she was barely listening, her head leaving her with the sensation that she was underwater. She whined as attempted to fidget, letting a silent tear or two fall from her eyes as she willed her body to sleep. "So hopeless," she whimpered under her breath. "Always so hopeless... Verity..." She wheezed for breathed through her throat as it felt like she was being stabbed by tiny knives in her chest. "Why am I so hopeless?" Tears slipped unchecked from her eyes into her hair, barely managing to stay afloat in the thick haze of her fever. "No wonder he doesn't want me."

"You're not, Dem," Verity assured sympathetically at her side, though so intense was his weariness now that even opening her eyes was too much effort. "I wouldn't be so sure about that, either."

Arching her neck against the cushion behind her head, Demelza was only partially listening, tried desperately to swallow, but her throat felt as though she had swallowed golf balls. She was confused, struggling beneath the sea of distractions to comprehend her friend's meaning. 

"What?" she wheezed. 

"There's someone here to see you."

Sighing tearfully, Demelza frowned and whimpered as her head hammered like a beating bass drum, near to breaking point. "What? No, Verity, I can't – " 

If she'd been at all herself, Demelza would have heard the sudden jovial shift in her friend's voice, or had her eyes open to see the bounce in her step... but, of course, she didn't.  The settee dipped beside beneath her, indicating someone had perched at the edge of the sear cushion. She felt a hand touch her back through the layers she had shrouded herself in. Raising her head just enough to squint at whom their visitor was, she felt all breath leave her lungs. 

Even through the fog of her fever, she'd know Ross' breath-taking facial features anywhere, especially if they were hovering a foot from her face.

"Hello, you," he murmured in a low, soothing tone. It would have been enough to send her to sleep, if it weren't for the fact his presence sent her heart haywire with surprise. 

"Wha'? _Ross?!_ " she breathed, attempting to shake herself alert and lift her head. Not only did she barely manage an inch off the cushion, but Ross shushed her before she could rise. 

"I hear you've been feeling a little poorly," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper as he smoothed a hand down the side of her face. No, she realised, not a hand. It was cold, enough to make her flinch and then simper with relief. It was rough, too. No – not a hand.  _A wet flannel._

She felt herself breath a sigh of relief, unable to hold in the whimper of a sigh that escaped her at his presence and the cool moisture that mopped her face.

"You're here," she breathed almost to herself, trying not to close her eyes in case  he disappeared when she looked again.

"Shh," he soothed as she frowned, trying to trudge her way through the tiresome confusion toward a logical train of thought which would not arrive. "After all you did for me when I was  _shit-faced_ and stupid? _Of course_ I'm here."

Closing her eyes to keep her tears hidden, she gasped as she attempted to supressed a sob. It was as though all her suffering over the previous week, both emotional after their fight and physical with whatever virus had taken a hold of her, bubbled up her throat, demanding to be released. Still though, she felt the urge to suppress it, to hide from him and therefore hide from all he made her feel. Her body seemed to have other ideas though, as the tears continued to slip silently from under her lashes down past her temples.

Ross' hand was smoothing back her hair before his thumbs began attempting to catch her tears before they could fall. Distantly, she could hear he was speaking words, hushed sweet nothings that floated about her head, but nothing seemed to register. Instead, her demons were taunting her with thoughts of Elizabeth, of reasons why Ross being here could only be some sort of cruel game her own mind was playing. "Can't be..." she wheezed nonsensically, trying desperately to find the words, finally blinking her eyes open again. "Can't be here for me..." she whispered to herself fracturedly, her throat grating her to speak as she them felt her chest heave with a powerful cough. 

 _"Shh,"_ he soothed, his hand moving under the blankets under it found the back of her neck. If she had been coherent, she would have cringed at his touching her there when her skin was so slick with sweat. "Here, love. Drink some of this, hm?" Gently, he raised her head up toward a the glass of water in his other hand. She attempted to gulp it, desperate for some sort of cool relief on her raw throat, but none seemed enough and the temperature of the water soon life her shivering again. 

Laying her had back down, she felt him feed her pills from Verity's hand, which she attempted to swallow quickly, despite the fact they left her inevitably grimacing as they moved down her throat. Next, she swallowed sweet cough syrup, though the taste of it made her gag. 

"No," she whimpered as he held her up to another teaspoonful, though it did nothing to heed a Poldark on a mission.

"C'mon, 'melza my love. You need it." With a gentle nudge, he pushed it past her lips. Begrudgingly, she swallowed it down, knowing he was right.  "Good girl." The appraisal came to her ears in the same hushed tone he had been using, but she sensed something different about it. A warmth; familiarity. It occurred to her that she had never once had that phrase used toward her before, having never known her mother.  _Yes,_ she wanted to say, though finding the words felt like swimming through soup.  _I am good – chronically, in fact. Too good and I hate it... but for you, it wouldn't feel so boring._ Despite the ugly of her sickness, it left her feeling warmth of a very different kind for a moment or two.   _If good is what you want, then good is what I'll be._

"Thank you," she managed, with the trace of a smile. Swallow with a grimace, she focussed her gaze on him, taking in his brown eyes first. They seemed pinched, as though not at peace, but still there was a smile at his mouth, close-mouthed and unwavering. Deep down, she knew this expression didn't fit, and had she been coherent in her thoughts, she would have connected that this was because the smile was a mask as assurance, intended for her benefit. "I've never been..." she breathed, having to swallow back another cough, "...a 'good girl' to someone...before..." 

"Well, you are." Clearing his throat, Ross dipped his head until his lips pressed against her forehead, barely seeming to possess hot with her currently flushed skin standing as a direct comparison. They moved imprecisely and without direction, across her brow and even into her hair before the flannel mopped over where they had been, sending her into a spiral of relief all over again. "But good or bad, Demelza, I'd have you – y'have to know that."

His words washed over her like music, seeming to send some of her demons back into the shadows. 

At her side, now on top of the blanket, her hand twitched to touch him, wanting to know he was in fact real. Blinking for a moment, she took him in for the first time, noting the misshapen charcoal t-shirt he wore and his lack of a coat. He looked like he'd been running.Surely he hadn't come all the way here _like that?_  And his _hair!_ No longer was it about his face as she had always known it to be, but it was tied back behind his head, just long enough to be pulled out of the way – though perfect ringlet curls had inevitably escaped at the nape of his neck and by his ears. 

Reaching up, she held his face, stroking the tips of her fingers up and down his cheek so she could feel the soft bristle and tickling scratch of stubbled beard here.

"I missed you," she managed to whisper without a cough, gazing over his face openly, almost forgetting that he was a ling, breathing person who would begin to feel self conscious and not simply a breathtaking painting, created to _be_ admired. "Even when...I was angry, I missed you." 

Ross' smile was shy, scrunched to one side as his lips pursed together. "Being ill has made you far too good to me, Demelza," he informed lowly, though his voice seemed to be conveying a sense of scorn upon himself, rather than her. "You should be being rude to me right now, telling me off."

Through the fog, she managed a smirk, though her eyes drooped somewhat. "Don'worry," she whispered, her face flinching as she swallowed. "Saved tha' f'later."

Above her, she heard a warm chuckle, the kind that she knew from experience rumbled from deep within his chest and felt her toes curling. She felt him kiss her face at the curve of her cheekbone, his breathing tickling her face. 

"I missed you," he confessed against her skin, the words feeling as though they had more weight than any others that had passed his lips so far. " _God,_ I missed you." 

She sighed happily at the words, though found herself still desperate to groan aloud to vent her body's discomfort. His face was not far from hers at all, as he leant awkwardly over her from his perch, though he didn't seem to mind. Demelza, on the other hand, was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. 

A whimper left her lips unchecked as she frowned her brow in pain, her eyes now closed as she yearned to finally have rest. Barely able to hold a conversation, her fever rendered her distracted and delirious.  Her hand fumbled blindly of its own accord above the blankets, in search of his hand. She felt the warm, solid frame of it first; the definition of his bone knuckles and the intimacy of the protruding veins that lay over his tendons. Gripping on tight, she felt him flex underneath her fingers, for a brief second leaving her sure he was going to pull his hand away. 

Her worry was needless. Instead, his hand moved to hold hers in return, his fingers slipping up over her palm to rest intimately at her pulse, smoothing calming patterns. 

"You want to try your bed again, Dem?" Verity's voice questioned from somewhere. "It's almost ten."

She nodded, suddenly craving her bed more than anything. She attempted to lift her head boldly, intent on moving to upstairs as she usually would, but her head instantly swam and left her frozen. 

"Hey, steady," Ross admonished, taking hold of her forearms. Blinking open her eyes, she caught sight of his expression: calm and serious. "Let me." 

With that, Demelza felt herself move without any physical effort from her own body, other than to rid herself of the blankets that swaddled her. She shuddered hard the moment her slicked skin hit the air, her body setting into an instant shiver. Her teeth chattered as Ross slipped his arm behind her back and under her knees, pulling her against his chest and up off the sofa. 

"Cold, cold, cold!" she whimpered almost against her will, as her body reflexively curled in on itself against the apparent chill in the air, leaving her pressing her face to his collarbone and knotting her arms around his neck for warmth as he lifted her. 

"I know, baby – I'm sorry," he hushed guilty against the top of her head, feeling the way her body shuddered against his chest. "It'll be over in a minute."

On quick feet, she felt him climb the stairs, muttering words she couldn't make out to Verity as she squeezed her eyes shut as vertigo began to set in. It seemed like a long time before he finally set her down in her bed, the sheets already turned down for her. She instantly grappled for the duvet, verbally making noises of cold and panic.

"As much as I love you in my jumper, you can't sleep in all these layers," Ross protested, preventing her from covering herself up. "You'll burn up."

Somewhere in her mind, she acknowledged he was right, though this didn't stop her from grumbling and curling away from him. "But I love this jumper," she simpered, in a pathetic attempt to charm him into leaving it be. It didn't work. 

With a sympathetic smile, he moved to pull it up and over her mussed, damp curls. Beneath it, her t-shirt was damp with sweat. 

"Ross?" she called weakly as he folded the jumper onto her desk chair, unable to lift her head after him. 

"Yes?" he answered quickly, his eyes round and alert. 

"Can you get me a fresh shirt?" In the intimately dim light of her red-tinted bedside light, the sight of him was almost dreamlike as he leant over her anxiously.  

"'Course – where are they?" he whispered, his hand smoothing over her face. It was only then she realised her eyes had drifted closed. "Where are they, baby?"

She hummed, attempting to shift through her memory and force her eyes to stay open. "Middle drawer." She watched him, her eyes glazed as she remained moving, as moved across the small room to sift through her clothing. He pulled out one at random before hurrying back to her. She was shaking, but managed to wriggle out of the damp t-shirt on her own, feeling guilty for being so incapacitated. Self consciously, she almost held the material of the dirty shirt against her bare chest, but soon realised such shyness was needless now – it wasn't as though he hadn't now seen it all before. 

She didn't miss the surprise on his face to turn and find her bare skin before him and deep inside his expression left her feeling pleased with herself. He politely managed to avert his gaze, which would have made her giggle if she'd had the energy to do so. Without comment, he pulled the shirt over her head and let her wriggle her own arms into place. She felt the duvet fall over her firmly, before a familiar pair of lips settled in a kiss at the exposed curve to the back of her neck. 

"There," he hummed, soundly pleased with himself. "All better?"

She nodded mutely against her pillow, reflectively curling her neck at the ticklish contact his beard made there, despite the fact she didn't at all wish for him to move. In a moment of conscious awareness, she felt her heart pick up and her throat throb with guilt. 

"Sorry," she shivered meekly, 

"Hey!" he scolded gently, a hand at the curve to her waist over the duvet. "Don't mention it." Lowering his lips to her face again, he left a lingering kiss behind on her cheek, raising a mournful sigh from her chest. "Goodnight, beautiful girl," he whispered, smoothing a hand up and down her back as she shivered beneath the layers.

She felt panic rouse her from her weary state at the thought he might leave. "Ross!" she breathed, weakly gripping hold of his forearm as he went to move away. "Will you stay? Please?"

Above her, he squinted his eyes, as though she had just stated the complete obvious. "Yes," he managed instantly, clearing his throat. "Of course – I was only moving to take off my trainers, silly."

Demelza's expression sorted into the simpering smile of a cat as she closed her eyes, curling into her usual fatal position. "And trousers, too," she mumbled cheekily, taking a deep breath against the thumping in her temples and instead focusing on memories of his shapely, muscular thighs. "Please."

"Excuse  _you,_ Demelza Carne," he berated in feigned shock and outrage. She felt climb over her and stretch himself along the other side of the bed. "Do you want me simply for my  _legs_ now?"

With a guffaw against her pillow, she peeped at him as she bit back a coughing fit. "Not...just..." For a moment, she was silenced as she focused on her breathing. "Not just for your legs."  

He lay the top blanket over himself, not wanting to lay beneath the duvet and have his body heat add to her temperature. Still though, he closed the small gap between them. He chuckled just as she opened her eyes, kissing her head with such tenderness that her train of thought disappeared off its tracks. "You're bonkers," he whispered affectionately before laying the damp flannel from the beside over her forehead. 

She simply hummed in response, her hand finding his wrist over the duvet as she finally felt weariness begin to take hold. Before finally being dragged under by the unrelenting tide of sleep, she grappled with her hold on consciousness a moment longer, realising she still had words she needed to say to him. "Thank you for coming back to me," she whispered into the abyss, meaning to thank him for much more than simply caring for her. 

"Oh, Demelza, my _love_." Somewhere in the dark, his words got back to her, though she was too far gone to read the emotion that may thick between them. "There was never any question..." 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @loveofmylonglife for the chats on... stuff. Mostly, a certain main's beautiful hair... hair tie or no hair tie.

_"I tried pushing evolution  
As the obvious conclusion of the start.  
But it was for my own amusement  
Saying love was an illusion of a hopeless heart.  
Of all of the things that she's ever said  
She goes and says something that knocks me dead.  
  
You won't find faith or hope down a telescope  
You won't find heart and soul in the stars  
You can break everything down to chemicals  
But you can't explain a love like ours._ _"_

**_––['Science and Faith' - The Script](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S2YXqgZTWu4)_ **

* * *

 

Demelza didn't sleep well that night and Ross found himself suffering through it with her. After all, sleeping beside someone who was miserable and tossing and turning made sleeping almost impossible, not that he minded much. If anything, he cherished the quality time with her, being able to care for her as she had so selflessly cared for him in his drunken stupidity. 

"I'm going to die," she groaned under her breath melodramatically as the clock at her bedside struck four o'clock, having woken up to re-dose herself with painkillers. Ross chuckled, though it was hard to find humour when Demelza was in such misery. Reaching over to the small tub of Vicks vapour rub, he pressed it into her hand, slightly alarmed by the wheeze of her lungs. Blinking her sleepy eyes open, she managed a smile. 

"You can rub it on me if you like," she taunted, but her simper was made much less effective as she was overcome with a fierce cough. Ross felt his pulse flutter in the base of his throat at the throaty depth that her flu had given her voice. The mere _prospect_ of spreading the vapour rub in her skin making him inappropriately flustered. 

"I will if you want me to," he whispered, opening up the lid to the tub for her, leaning over her on his elbow. "But I can't promise I won't like it a little too much." 

With a gentle, whispered laugh, she handed him back the tub, attempting to give him the best doe-eyes she could manage. "Y'big _perv._ "

When the day finally did arrive, Ross was glad to be her pillow for the majority of it. They sat and watched the television as Demelza subjected him to her love of musicals, only to fall asleep after ten minutes of The King and I, leaving him trapped beneath her and unable to turn it off. He didn't mind so much though, as he soon fell asleep along with her, barely roused by her coughing. 

When he came to, she had burrowed her face into the crook of his elbow, leaning he could gaze at her sleeping form without having to lift his head. She wasn't shivering so much now, nor was her hair damp with sweat anymore. With Verity's help, she had managed to have a bath and wash the grime of her fever out of it before settling with him on the sofa. As he gazed at her, he was hit once again with the perfume of whatever shampoo she had used as lavender accompanied with a powdery musk wafted up his nostrils and made his mouth water. Her face was slightly flushed with her slight temperature and as she dreamed, her eyelids fluttered and her fingers flexed against his stomach. She had near handfuls of his shirt in her loose fingers, as though even in her sleep she was worried he might flee. 

The very thought made him compelled to wake her, to kiss her senseless in the hope it might convince her of his increasing attachment to her, but he managed to hold himself back for her sake.  His visceral desires were hasty and selfish in their origins, after all. She needed her rest and he would not deny her that. 

It did little to prevent him from continuing to stare however, as he was now able to take in her beauty, every soft curve and minute freckle, without being observed. It baffled him that she truly couldn't see her own beauty, with her high stately neck and bouncy rosy cheeks. Her blue eyes were disarming when they looked at him, as though she could see through every wall that he had built around his broken heart and wounded soul. 

She sighed and fidgeted against him, nuzzling her face against the bare skin of his inner-arm in her sleep. Her lips were moist as they puckered unconsciously and he had to close his eyes at the sensation. 

 _Don't you dare,_ he scolded himself instantly, grappling for control of his body.  _You_ cannot _get a hard on right now._

Unfortunately, the more he told himself not to get excited, the more he began to fantasise about her supple shapely lips against him, smiling against his neck, nippling his lower lip... or perhaps wrapping themselves around his cock.

 _Jesus, Poldark!_  he betrayed mentally, holding his breath and clenching his eyes shut as though it might help to curb the images his mind was creating. _Get a grip!_

He felt guilty for wanting her with such intensity, not only because she wasn't well, but because she herself was innocent and almost entirely unaware of his perpetual desire for her. He was thankful that she could not read his mind, for its frequent digression and descent into lustful fantasies would surely frighten her, inexperienced as she was. 

"Ross," came the wistful, sleepy sigh from her throat. The surprise of her voice would have been enough to shrink his increasing arousal... but the breathy utterance of his name from her lips only fuelled his heated reverie. He could feel his breathing becoming less even as he squinted at her, unsure if she was awake or if she had said his name in her sleep.  His question was answered a moment later however, when she frowned suddenly and let out a whimper, as though something in her dream upset her. _"Ross..."_

"I'm here, love," he whispered gently, settling his lips against her ear, her weak, grating voice enough to dissolve his desire somewhat as he was reminded of her sorry state the night before. When he'd arrived, Verity had been incredibly taken aback to find him on their doorstep, only to then descend into gratitude with a not-so-subtle bounce of delight in her step. However, it had soon been histurn to be taken aback at Demelza's state, having not expected her to be delirious with such a consuming fever, and his knowledge of survival kicked in upon instinct.  Though she had improved a great deal today, he was aware of that a renewed protective streak had blossomed within him. 

It had always been there – he had saved her from a predatory stranger the night they met, after all – but now, it left him worrying about her whenever he wasn't with her, which was entirely alien to him.   _Yes_ , he had always been somewhat possessive with his girlfriends, but even with Elizabeth, though he had loved her _desperately,_ he'd found himself easily distracted by life. 

Before university, he had been busy with his responsibilities in the Cornwall Cadet Battalion, which he had been a part of since childhood, originally because his father forced him to be. Then, once an adult, he left his army cadet days behind and found himself preoccupied with the many sports and arts clubs that peaked his interests while at university in the capital.  In hindsight, he was beginning to realise that his distance and preoccupation no doubt drove Elizabeth into the arms of others. Perhaps it had been a catalyst for the events that crushed his heart at the beginning of the year, perhaps he had deserved it, but at least now he was aware of it, he considered thoughtfully.

Now, with Demelza laying alongside him, he felt the festering protectiveness rising in him, as the idea of her neglecting _her_ when _she_ was in need left him feeling notable uncomfortable. 

Yes, he had neglected women in the past, but at least now, he might have learned from his mistakes.

With all his will, he decided then and there that he simply couldn't allow himself to take sweet, kind Demelza for granted.

* * *

That evening, having slept her way through most of the day, Demelza finally appeared to be resurfacing. Ross rose with profuse apologies into Demelza's ear from her cuddled posture on the settee, intent on investigating what food he could salvage from the cupboards – only for Verity to arrive with take-away Pizza Express. 

Demelza's eyes instantly rounded into saucepans with an energy in them that had been missing for the last twenty-four hours. The smile at that split across her face instantly triggered one on his own as he surpassed a laugh. 

"Judas! Verity – I  _love you!"_ she praised croakily from the settee, sitting up and holding out her arms desperately for the pizza box. Ross took two from the arms of his cousin with a deep chuckle. 

"So, that's where I've been going wrong!" he joked as he placed the pizza on the coffee table in from of Demelza, who was practically salivating. "I just needed pizza for Demelza's affections!"

Demelza barely looked at him as she tore open her box, picking up a piece of the thin-crust gourmet style pizza with eager hands. "Not just _any_ pizza," she mumbled, just before her mouth was full. Ross grinned at her enthusiasm and sat down opposite her to join in, wanting to be able to watch this new side to Demelza unfold. She rolled her eyes in dramatic bliss as she finished her first piece, before hastily reaching for one of the company's famous dough balls. Ross felt a warmth in his chest at the sight of her so happy over something so simple and trivial as a pizza. Elizabeth would never have been caught dead eating pizza, never mind stuffing her face with it as she was far too preoccupied with what she assumed it would do to her waistline – despite the fact Ross insisted she needed not worry about such things. 

Yet again, Demelza was marking herself out from the crowd without even trying with her delight over life's little, insignificant things... during which she lost any sense of her trademark self-consciousness and self-doubt. In such moments as this, Ross was aware that he could finally see the  _true_ Demelza as she _should_ be: uninhibited and unafraid, delighting in the simple and slightly ridiculous. In this moment, she wasn't 'the virgin girl' who was afraid of men that she so often punished herself for being. 

In this moment, she was just Demelza. 

"What? Do I have sauce on my face?" she questioned, making him realise he'd been staring across at her, his piece of pizza hovering below his mouth. 

Just like that, her self consciousness was back, as she looked down and away from his eyes with a laugh, wiping her mouth hurriedly. The sight made him sit back in a sudden realisation... 

Did... _he_  make her like that? Did  _he_ make her tormented with self consciousness?

The thought left him dazed and unsettled. 

"I d'get rather overzealous with Pizza Express pizza," she excused softly with a smile, unaware of his internal dialogue. Shaking away his thoughts as best as he could, he settled a reassuring smile on his face, determined to put her mood back as it was. 

"I like that you get so overzealous," he murmured, humming in satisfaction as the grease of garlic butter passed his lips. "Don't you dare apologise for it."

When he rose his eyes back to her, she was smiling at him as though she had been doing so for a long while. With a short, slight nod, she giggled and went back to her pizza, but not before moving to sit right beside him, pressing a moist enthusiastic kiss to the side of his face. 

"S'your funeral, Ross," she replied humourlessly, pursing her lips in an attempt to keep a cough at bay, though it did little to stop it. Verity came into the room them, handing them napkins for their greasy hands, which Ross accepted thankfully. He cleared his throat and swallowed the words he longed to say to the fiery beauty beside him. Instead, they ate in companionable quiet while Verity chatted about the 'arsehole' that had served her in Waitrose. 

"You feeling better, Demelza?" she asked, once she was finished with her rant. Demelza took time to swallow her monstrous mouthful and nodded. 

"Thanks t'you," she replied, licking her the slight grease from her fingers.

"Hey – and what am I?!" Ross cried, holding a hand over his heart in an exaggerated, as though emotionally wounded. "A bag of bricks?!"

Giggling, Demelza knocked her his knuckles against his temple, as though testing the contents of his skull. "Hmm," she hummed in false consideration, tilted her head as though to listen for an echo. "I d'know – _are_ you?"

The cheek in her voice made him smile crookedly into her face, shaking his head inches from her face as though he might nearly nuzzle noses with her. There was a silent communication in her eye as their smiling eyes met, leaving him once again craving to be alone with her.

"Oh, Dem! I passed the cinema. The film about folk you talked about is ending today," Verity informed as she began clearing away the rubbish. The early evening light filled the sky out the window with a beautiful shade of pink and as Verity moved past the window, Ross was struck by its colour as it tinted the face of the young woman beside him a saturated scarlet that almost matched her hair. 

"No!" Demelza despaired in response, a cute grumpy pout settling on her lips. "I knew it would go before I found anyone to go with – "

Ross felt a lightning bolt in his mind as the idea settled him into a renewed fever of nervous energy... and just like that the words flew from him. "I'll take you?"

He isn't sure why he said it, but all he _did_ know is he'd do anything to straighten out her frown – and straighten it out, he certainly did. Her eyes were round with shock and surprise as he dared to look up at her, as though she couldn't quite comprehend what he had said. 

As it transpired, her reaction bloomed from the fact she had never actually been asked on any form of date before. He had gazed at her,  _himself_ uncomprehending now, when she had told him so. 

"What?! Um – forgive me – I just – " He had grappled for words for a second or two. "What is  _wrong_ with the men you've met?"  As they made the short walk from the bus stop to the arthouse cinema, Ross walked incredibly close to her. Though she had a spike in energy after her sleepy day and stomach full of food, he was slightly on edge that she may fall back into her illness and was cautious that he might be walking too fast. 

Beside him, her face was pink as she looked at the ground, shrugging her shoulders self consciously. "How do you know it's not something wrong with  _me?"_ she challenged as they approached the cinema. Ross scoffed beside her and shook his head instantly, disregarding her self deprecation for nonsense. He was laughing at they got into the box office queue. "What?" she questioned, shifting on her feet in shyness. 

"Can I be honest with you?" he replied with a confident smile. "There's  _absolutely_ shit-all wrong with you."

Demelza rolled her eyes good-naturedly, striking his shoulder with a solid, surprisingly strong fist. "Aren't you a li'l bias to be sayin' so?"

Ross turned to her as they stood parallel, a queue already building behind them. Ross heard the high laughter of a group of girls and he neared Demelza's ear so he wouldn't be overheard. "Well, yes." He voice had a low gruff to it as he lowered his head slightly to catch her eye. "Incredibly bias, actually."

She laughed at his admission, giving him a grateful smile. "I d'sometimes forget," she said lowly, adjusting the scarf she wore around her head to keep her curls at bay. 

"Forget what?"

"That we're... That you're my..." She trailed into silence, gazing at him bashfully from under her lashes. Between their bodies, Ross felt the back of his hand and fingers brush against hers and noted, with a smug smile, that a rosy hue had spread across the base of her neck. With a sigh, she scoffed at herself and Ross instantly recognised the familiar sight as she grappled with her own internal barriers. With a noise of defeat, she closed the free inches left between them, resting her head against his chest. " _Judas_  – I'm ridiculous! I can't even _say_ it!"

Just like everything with Demelza, his laughter was inevitable and came easily. He raised a hand to her back and smoothed down it with a comforting caress through her jacket. He was aware of what was happening here as Demelza was yet again uncertain of their relationship, to the point of not even being able to label it. He himself remembered the feeling; it had followed him around for the first few months of his relationship with Elizabeth. He knew it rendered even those with the most _expansive_ vocabulary frustrated, unable to string sentences together for fear of using the wrong word, for labelling a very new, fragile relationship in case the other person would not agree. 

Leaning down, he kissed the top of her head as she pulled away, revealing her hot cheeks to his gaze. They were so close he could feelthe nerves coming off her in waves as she mumbled something about being pathetic before reaching down to curl her fingers around his at her side. The touch was very small, no one would have likely noticed if they were to look from behind, since the gap between their bodies was so slight. The link was tenuous and loose, but it was there and it left Ross' heart thumping  _that_ bit faster. 

"You're not pathetic," he hummed quietly looking down at her even though she was looking forward toward the upcoming kiosk. "At all."

After purchasing the tickets – which was like pulling teeth with Demelza, as she refused to let him pay, though he did anyway – they moved into the small screening room after making a quick detour via the confectionary stand. Much to Ross amusement, Demelza purchased a small popcorn with the change from her pocket, despite the fact she had just all but inhaled a pizza not an hour ago and he half considered buying a Stella – though he thought better of it. He gave her a look of great amusement, to which she simply said, in the most serious of voices: "N'one should ever pass up warm popcorn, Ross."

They settled into their seats and were surrounded by very few other customers, as a film on folk music was hardly something that people were likely to flock for on a Monday evening. As the advertisements began, Ross shamelessly allowed himself to keep his eyes on his redheaded companion, enthralled by the way the colours of the screen lit the lines of her face and reflected off the lightest tones in her hair. It didn't take long before he was caught mid-appraisal as she turned and looked at him questioningly. 

In that moment, he knew what he  _should_ have said: that he was a twat before; that he was sorry; that he couldn't find it in him to think of Elizabeth anymore even if he _had_ wanted to because his mind was consumed with thoughts of the girl with hair like _fire_.  He _should_ have said that he was beginning to think she was the most beautiful girl he had ever known; that he delighted somehow over her love of food and her disregard for convention and boring pleasantries.

He should have said that he wanted her, there and then, illness or no illness and that he had never wanted a woman more than when she had lain, dreaming beside him. 

He  _should_ have said a lot of things, but Ross Poldark was an Englishman, so the best he could manage was to smile and squeeze her hand, burying the words to be salvaged later when they were alone and he wasn't sober.

Perhaps he had been overzealous thinking he could sit through an entire film about folk music, he thought, as he began to fidget and look around the room subtly within thirty minutes. He never had been one to be able to sit through entire feature films, though considering the interest on Demelza's face, he'd never say so. While she watched the screen with a fixed, concentrated gaze Ross decided to watch _her_ , thoroughly enjoying the way she tapped her foot along to the joyful cry of the fiddle and pop of the banjo and the way she grinned along with the smiles she witnessed onscreen. 

It didn't take long before she sensed his eyes on her and turned to sought them out. Her eyes were round but without the anxiety he expected. Instead, they seemed to shine with a look of knowing. Between them, they both reached into the small cardboard box for popcorn, causing their fingers to meet and Demelza's expression only brightened through the dark. She turned her attention back to the screen with her usual sensible self control, leaving him wondering if he had imagined the enticing look in her eye. 

The film moved into heavier waters as the film maker delved into the tragic origins of particular musicians, including alcoholism and grief and Ross didn't miss the tear that slipped from Demelza' eye, though she dashed it away almost instantly. As the weeping interviewees described the abyss that death left for those were left behind, Ross' chest flutter involuntarily, flashes of his mother pale, weak and coughing up blood flitting past his eyes. Suddenly, he really wished he  _had_ bought a beer at the kiosk, as he suddenly craved the numbing effects of alcohol that so often sent lurking demons packing. 

Suddenly, a cool hand was grasping his wrist, smoothing over where his knuckles had tightened against the armrest. Instantly, he was thrust from the fog to the comforting yet disarming sight of Demelza's wide eyes, slightly squinted in concern... and just like that it was easy to smile, to forget and to recover as though he hadn't been down the deepest rabbit hole but a moment prior. 

At the end of the film Demelza didn't move straight away, instead watching the names pass across the screen, as though attempting to pay them all respect by reading them. Ross settled into his seat and watched them too, so many names, so many contributions. What even  _were_ half those jobs? he wondered. 

As the screen cut to complete black, Ross smiled and followed Demelza out of the screening room and toward the exit. Neither spoke as they were hit by the surprisingly chilly April air, but Ross felt the familiar itch return to his blood and knew what instantly he needed. 

"Do you mind if we sit out here a bit, while I smoke?" he asked, pulling the packet from the pocket of his jacket. 

"No, no – s'fine," Demelza agreed easily, following him to the nearby bench. 

He felt self conscious as he withdrew a cigarette as, sure enough, Demelza was watching his every move with such interest, as though the entire concept of smoking was new to her. It wasn't, _evidently,_ but he supposed she only ever stole a puff or two when she was drunk, so it may as well have been. 

Before he could even flick the switch on his lighter, attempting to shelter the cigarette from the wind, Demelza reached out and took it from him, igniting the flame with ease and holding it steady until it rendered the tip into burning red embers. She held his gaze as she did so and it was then that he saw it, momentarily, like a shooting star behind the glare of double-glazed glass, that flicker in her eyes that told of an internal fire, dying to be unleashed. 

As he thanked her, she settled down beside him, her body flush against his for warmth. The proximity rose giggles from somewhere in their guts, as though they were mischievous fourteen year olds out after curfew. Except they were not fourteen... and there was no curfew. 

She rose her eyes to his again and they were accentuated by the screen of her dainty lashes. "Thank you – for this. I know it wasn't all adrenaline and guns – "

Her choice of words struck a chord within him, although there would have been no way she would have known so. " – Some of us men  _do_ like more than adrenaline and guns, Miss Carne." His words were almost defensive, most likely because he had always been all too aware throughout his childhood in Army cadets of the stereotype he had indirectly been fulfilling, the path he had been forging for himself: troubled youth, straightened out into a disciplined killing machine, only to then shout at the next young trouble youths, as though he cared squat for what demons may have brought them there. 

Demelza blushed and looked instantly apologetic; guilt swamped his gut. "O'course! I just meant – "

"Hey – relax, relax!" he assured softly, taking a drag with one hand while pulling her other against his chest and into the warmth of his jacket. "I was just kidding..." The relief on her face made him want to kick himself.  _She's paranoid about upsetting you. Look what you do to her!_ "Though, I meant it. I certainly care for a lot more than adrenaline and guns."

Suddenly Demelza rolled her eyes, lips twisting into a smirk. The look she gave him would have made him shift uncomfortably if it hadn't _also_ put him on the edge of his seat in intrigue. "Hm," she hummed dryly. "I'm not so sure, Ross. You seem quite the adrenaline junkie to me." Her hand was suddenly gone from beneath his and was instead at his temple, pushing back flapping curls at his forehead and thoughtfully smoothing her thumb over his brow bone and down his cheek. "A risk taker." Swallowing hard, he felt further bricks of his walls crumble, as her dissection of him materialised as once again pinpoint accurate. "P'raps you don't even see it." 

His pulse hammering at the base of his throat, Ross managed a sheepish smile as his own hand rose to move one of her own errant curls from dancing into her eyes. Really, this was nervous fidgeting, even if she did flush at the gesture. Slowly, he nodded. "More so, these days."

"An' meanwhile, I've n'er even been able to walk on pavement cracks!" she laughed breathlessly, shaking her head at herself. Ross' smile came easily then, as deep inside his head a voice craved to tell her how he  _rejoiced_ in this fact, in her iron-like stature and resolve. "Silly, huh?"

His head was shaking before he had the words to follow. "No." Her eyes were so blue in this light, he thought, as the twilight of darkness sent final streaks across her face in the form of sulphur lamp light and reflections off the water. Taking a deep breath, he bit the bullet. "I'm sorry for how I acted the other day. I should have considered your feelings. I didn't mean to upset you – I'm just a pigheaded idiot sometimes."

Demelza pursed her lips keep from grinning at his self deprecation. "It's okay, Ross... I'm starting to get that on my own." He nudged her playfully then, taking a long, hard drag. "I've said it before, I know, but... at least one of us has to have their head screwed on." 

Her curls were fast falling from the confined of her siphon scarf, so he found himself reaching, cigarette poised from his lips, to catch them in his fingers. It took little time at all before they were nose to nose, the lavender perfume of her hair almost sending him dizzy. "Me? Have my head screwed on?" Suddenly she was shaking her head, her brows low and a furrow between them, as though bemused. He pulled her closer then, disguising it as a desire to give warmth when truthfully he just needed to hold her, to look into her face and attempt to understand. When she rose to look, her expression was concentrated, as though she was carefully considering her words. "That's the thing. S'not  _order,_ Ross..." she affirmed suddenly, her hand over his at her face with a sudden sense of urgency, as though _willing_ him to understand. "It's worry. It's panic."

They looked at once another for a long moment, as though this one little piece of honesty clicked something into place. He was sure he understood now; she wasn't _sensible._ She didn't reframe from parties, drug-taking, dating or sex because she was  _sensible_ or  _above_ such pleasures... No. Demelza Carne was simply terrifiedof them. He swallowed and – in his very English way – struggled for the words to say what he wanted, that he was pretty sure he understood a little more now and that he didn't mind, he couldn't judge.

Demelza beat him to it, with a sudden ruthlessly shy smile at her lap as a group of young men gathered opposite them at the doors to the cinema. "Although... I've never touched a grown man in public before."

 _Sweet Jesus,_ she inwardly cursed, barely managing to keep from rolling his eyes backward into his head. She made innocence so  _sexy_.He had to take a breath and remind himself where they were, and there their were strangers present. 

"Especially not one with such good hair," she continued, evidently approving of his hair being tied back, though only just, at the back of his head. Tendrils were loose around his face, far too short and frizzed to be confide to a hair tie. He barked a laugh, as he personally thought his hair was utterly ridiculous. He  _really_ needed a trip to the barbers. 

There was a grin behind her words, teeth snagging her bottom lip, as though to curb her grin. " _Aside_ from at the pub – when you launched me."

Suddenly without need for nicotine, Ross stubbed out his cigarette, just at the snort of both shock and acceptance left his mouth. " _Jesus_ – yes. Let's forget that," he muttered, his face turning hot with shame. Beside him, Demelza suddenly looked like she had an evil plan, as he felt her chilly fingertips at the base of his throat, smoothing over the chest hair that peeped out of his close-fitted t-shirt. The gesture made him have to close his eyes for a moment, as sparks of electricity seemed to sprout from her fingers and leave his skin tingling.

"So I suppose...that makes me...a little braver than I was yesterday." In that moment, their eyes were locked in a conversation of their own, though he hadn't the slightest idea what it was saying. All he knew was he didn't want it to stop. As she sat snug against him, still coy and shy despite the fire in her eyes, dressed in pale waist-height jeans that exposed slender pale ankles and a cotton sweater to match... he felt powerless and entirely empowered simultaneously.

"You make me brave," she whispered, her voice still croaky as the siren's spark returned, seeming to darken her azure irises into something deeper, more feral. They were parallel no longer with her hand at his jaw and his rising words in her mouth. She seemed to know what she wanted as she pulled him as close as being in public would allow – he felt the _deliriously_ innocent hold of her hand at his waist. Her lips were cold where his were warm but they were _sure_ where his were not – momentarily anyway. 

After a long moment, he reminded himself to ask questions later and cleared the deck to simply  _enjoy_ whatever moment it was they were in. Breaking away but a centimetre for breathe, he tenderly nudged her nose to watch her smile before dipping his head to taste her again, though she sucked up _his_ lower lip before he had the chance. He could hear the sound of breath rushing through nostrils between them, indicating the power and heat of the moment pushed all air from a pair of lungs, though he was unaware of whether it was Demelza's or his own. He was far too preoccupied, enticed by the silky texture of her freshly-washed curls at the back of her neck as his long fingers pushed into her cropped hair to assure her proximity.  He almost simpered as he felt her do the same with hm, with both hands, no less, but managed to bite it back, pulling away for oxygen only to pepper a kiss where her cheek met her smile... just before a coughing fit broke her away. 

"I like finally being brave," she whispered disjointedly, out of breath and delightfully mussed under his touch, only to be interrupted by the cat calls and chorus of 'Oi Oi' from the group that had formed outside the cinema a hundred yards away. She giggled and bashfully hid her face against him and just like that she was Demelza again and gone was the siren. "Though,  _shit,_ I probably just gave you my germs."

"Me? _Nah."_ Ross kissed her one last time for good measure, not caring at all if she gave him her flu in that moment. "Come on, you," Ross dismissed softly, pulling her momentarily against his chest in a final squeeze. His lips were at her hairline in a parting gesture, as though he was near-incapable of letting her go. "Let's get you back before we make your cold worse."

"Good idea," she whispered in agreement, standing up to take his outstretched hand. There was a ruddy stain to her cheeks that made him want to kiss her, but he restrained himself. With bated breath, he managed to bring up that the big function for his mother's charity was twelve days away and didn't breath again until she affirmed she was still eager to accompany him with a smile that left him with a spring in his step. _What are you?!_ his inner cynic cried at his easy excitement.  _Twelve?!_

Once back at the house, Demelza's weariness was clear. Ross wasn't tired, so pulled his book on the predicted rise of the world wide web and settled at her side. As she changed with her back to him, flicking shy but inviting looks over her shoulder, Ross snapped a photo or two, finding the lighting of her subdued warm bedside lamp a blessing on her scarlet hair and pale skin, tinting it pink all over. Slowly, her shirt fell away as she bent over to pull to pick out some pyjamas, now simply dressed in a pair of lace knickers. She pulled on a pair of boyshorts first and the sight left him grinning. How was it that this woman looked  _more_ sexy in boy shorts than she did in next to nothing?

His camera clicked where he held it on his flat chest as he reclined against her pillows, capturing her coy look over her shoulder at him, the expanse of pink-tinted skin seeming to go on forever along the lines of her naked back and down her long, toned legs. 

"Ross Poldark!" she scolded falsely, her voice a croak though there was a grin in her voice, low as to prevent waking Verity. Her naked back was to him again as she riffled for a pyjama top. "D'you make a habit of takin' photographs of ladies while they're  _indisposed?"_

He felt his cheeks radiating heat, though he wasn't at all ashamed. He knew she was speaking in jest. "Only when they're my muse," he defended softly, watching as the skin of her back slowly disappeared behind a cotton t-shirt. As she turned back to him, she gave him a look that he supposed was intended to be scolding, but nothing stood in the way of her giggles. Looking down at her chest, he smiled at the family sight of The Smiths printed across her chest. 

"Hm," he hummed, reaching up to capture the moment of her attempting to glare, her hands on her hips and her delicate brow raised, with a stark click of his shutter. "Morriessy's a lucky, _lucky_ man."

Biting her lip to look down at the man on her front, she shook her head at him, rolling her eyes at the cheeky spark in his eye. _"Jealous?"_

Ross rose an eyebrow back and pursed his lips giving a blasé shrug, winking at her as she laughed. She cambered onto the bed and up to his side, settling against him on top of the covers, her lips wondering and careless against his jaw and down the length of his neck. 

"I brought you something." he managed evenly, though his tone was throaty with the shivers her hesitant touch rose on his skin. Raising her head from its hiding place against the base of his throat, cocking a brow at him. 

"Oh?"

"In my bag," he motioned over her, enjoying the way her bare legs stretched out before him, long, pale and shapely. "Front pocket."

"The photographs!" she gushed happily as she discovered them, cradling in her hands and rolling back over to his side with a bounce in her movements. "You developed them already?"

She gazed at the photograph he had taken of her in the meadow for a moment, as he had deliberately placed it top of the pile as his favourite. She had the breathtaking radiant of the sunrise as a backdrop,surrounded by the cornflowers and meadow he loved so much. As he'd developed that moment in his make shift dark room at Nampara, he had been unable to do anything but stand and stare for a long moment, taking in the look of quiet intensity on her face – her pupils wide with intoxication and her curls victim to the power of the wind. 

She was intoxicating to him, even when made of ink and paper. 

"I like this!" she giggled as she reached the polaroid she took of him as  _he_  photographed  _her._ He personally thought he looked ridiculously pretentious as he took, broody, holding his camera to his face. Next came the moment he had captured of her breath him in the grass, moments after she had been arched up beneath the hold of his hands, mewing into the empty open air, writhing under his tongue... His breath faltered at the memory and he had to look away as he subtly moved his hand to shield her view of his crotch. 

"Ross..." she whispered, drawing her eyes back to him. Her hand moved up his chest in a touch that was so gentle it was almost a caress. He was amazed she didn't feel the tremor of his abdomen through the cotton of his t-shirt, because it roared through him like an electric spark. "Thank you so much." She want away with a sudden jerk, coughing into the pillow behind her. The fit was violent and he quickly moved to smooth hands up up her back in an attempt to be soothing. 

"For what, love?" The term of endearment almost came without thought now, though it left his cheeks ruddy.

With a deep breath, she tried to speak again, though this time her voice was even deeper and broken with cold. "For the most wonderful first date a girl could have."

Mystified, Ross couldn't help but laugh – as much out of surprise as sympathy. The poor girl had no idea. " _Wonderful?"_ He continued to chuckle, shaking his head as he pulled her into his chest, seeking out her lips in a long, intimate kiss that left her biting her lip when he withdrew. "You're very easily pleased."

Demelza rolled her eyes and gave him a pinch at the waist, a sauce grin on her lips as though she had a secret. "Don't get used to it."

The double entendeur had the desire affect as it triggered a cascade of deep chuckles from his gut. Slowly, he rose to rid himself of his t-shirt, deciding he was too hot for it. He didn't miss the way Demelza licked her lips in his peripheral vision, her eyes much further south than his face. The idea that she was enticed by the sight of him bare left him itching to heat things up, to take her by the hips and show her just  _how enticed_ she had him,  _constantly._

Laying back down, he let her settle back against him, giving her waist a squeeze when she pressed a kiss to his collarbone. She still held the polaroid of him in his hand where it rested against his stomach.

"I can do much better than a movie at the Watershed, 'melza," he murmured against her crown, inhaling the perfume of her scale deeply into his lungs. He couldn't help but smile, a grand plan already formulating in his head. "You'll just see..." Her body alongside him made him never wish for a spacious bed again, as her warmth and soft curves were much more enticing than the allure of space could ever be. Raising his eyebrows, he gave a quirky, teasing smile, though she couldn't see him. "You free the weekend of the 28th?"

Raising herself up on her elbow, she looked at him impatiently. "Ross – your  _Ma's charity's_ event is the 29th. O'course I am!"

Pressing his lips together to suppressed his mirth, Ross let his hand wonder to the slip of skin at her hip where the cotton vest had ridden upward, loving the way it made her sigh and squirm. 

"Just checking," he dismissed toward the ceiling, thankful that she couldn't see his face for want of the  _ridiculous_ expression on his face. 

He, of course, knew the dates were the same; his enquiry had purely been to tease her... and so see if she'd remember their earlier conversation. It pleased him beyond his comprehension that she did... perhaps because it meant, without doubt, that she cared. 


	13. Beckoning (Part I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all. Bet you thought I'd forgotten these two... Definitely not. This is part of an at least III part episode few days for these lovely two..... Let's hope they make it not too battered. 
> 
> Inspired by one of my favourite bands, who are soundtrack music to my life but also to the building of Romelza's. They went to my university and they're a pretty big deal now. See below. I recommend them for your iPods always, but especially when reading 90's Romelza. 
> 
> (Obviously, rights go to Winston, BBC, Mammoth).
> 
> ALSO: If you want to picture Ross' suit and never be able to think of Ross any other way again, the image that inspired me can be found here: http://imgur.com/s4Nb5 XD

* * *

_"Grey stares beneath the moon_  
_Tonight I’ll be dreaming of you_  
_People and rhythm instead_  
_And there you’ll be, there you’ll be  
_ _inside my head._

 _I will dream of you._  
_You’ll dream of me too._  
_Your hands, they’re on my face;_  
_Hmm, there would be no better place._

 _Some miracle man must have shot me while I wake._  
_I never ran fast enough – oh my mistakes._  
_Would you really want me in the light of day?_  
_That very same man, shot flaws right through my face..."_

["Interlude" - London Grammar](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-gB4iD6H7XI)

* * *

 

The next morning, Ross came to slowly, sedated by the the warmth Demelza emitted against him. Blinking awake, he became aware of every curve of her, soft and shapely, and the friction that sent a surge through him whenever he moved. Looking down, her side was against his front as he lay on his hip facing her and she lay motionless on her back. His face had been buried in the crook of her neck, deep in a mane of curls, and he really didn’t want to move… though one glance at the bedside clock told him he had to. 

Slowly, he mournfully untangled himself from her, trailing tiny kisses down her neck, reaching her collarbone very gradually. Demelza whimpered in her sleep, fighting consciousness with everything she had. A deep ‘v’ appeared between her brows, an expression so endearing he had to lean down and kiss it. 

“Mmf… Fuck _off…”_ she groaned, her voice thick and gravelling. Her rudeness made him smile all the more as her lower lip stuck out cutely in discontent, her eyes remaining stubbornly closed.  Slowly he lowered himself against her to pepper further kisses over her face, though deliberately paying no attention to her lips, smiling smugly at her disgruntled expression. With each kiss though, he felt her begin to soften again. 

“Good morning to you too, sleeping beauty,” he crooned, deliberately in the most smooth voice he could manage. 

“S’pose that means that makes you Prince Charmin’ then? How modest,” she muttered, though the distaste in her voice was gone. He chuckled against her lips, finally claiming them against his and relishing in the sigh that exhaled from the swell of her plump lips and tickled his. He felt his body begin to respond, as it felt as though an electric current danced on the surface of his skin. 

“I have to go…” he whispered sorrowfully, attempting to rise from the bed. He knew he had meetings to prepare for, faxes to read, event decisions to agree on. He really did have to go back to the real world… but _God_ , he didn't want to. 

Suddenly, her hands were at his bare waist, cool and soft, pulling him back down with surprising strength. Her Smiths shirt had ridden up above her belly button, leaving the warmth of her hips brushing against his. Momentarily he had to close his eyes, the sight of her mussed with sleep and barely clothed in her t-shirt and boy-shorts proving almost too much for him. 

“No,” she breathed, pouting at him and pleading him with her eyes. Just like that, she’d arched her back and kissed him square on the mouth, her hand fixing him straight at the back of his head. If he hadn’t been so ridiculously turned on by her every breath, he would have laughed at her sudden audacity and courage. After all, there was once a time she would have never annunciated such contact. “I’ll make it worth your while,” she purred, trying her best to coax him. Suddenly, her hand was moving south, over his hip and to the boundary of his briefs, making him leap backward in surprise.  

“What are you _doing?”_ he whispered harshly, looking panicked to the bone. 

Demelza grinned deviously at him in the dim, cheeks hot despite her persistence. It excited her beyond measure to send him into such panic, as it was so utterly unusual. She raised her hand between them and, much to Ross’ dismay, threaded her fingers into his chest hair, grazing her nails over his skin. His eyes near rolled into the back of his head, rousing a long, drawn out groan from deep in his gut – though it materialised as nothing much more than a breathless whimper. Her touches were slight, so hesitant, that they rendered him a trembling mess. 

“I’d have thought Ross Poldark would know _precisely_ what I’m doing…” Suddenly, her hand had wondered even further south until she had cupped him through his briefs and, just like that, he couldn’t breath at all. 

“Demelza!” he whispered harshly, though by now his jaw was slack and his head braced against her collarbone. “Verity’s in the house!”

“And she sleeps like the dead…” she whispered saucily against his skin, taunting him such a dark sense of promise in her voice. It was so unlike her he had to raise his eyes to look at her, _really_ look at her. 

“Who are you and what have you done with my Demelza?”

Just like that, he watched the smoulder in her eyes, so very un-Demelza like, fade and become replaced with her usual near-overbearing concern… but also something else. She bit her lip to keep back a sudden smile and suddenly pushed her hands into his hair (which had long fallen from it’s tie at the back of his head). 

“ _‘Your’_ Demelza, huh?” He chuckled softly as she said it, realising how ridiculously American-blockbuster it had sounded, but also secretly delighting in the sheer size of the grin on her face. He could feel his cheeks turning ruddy, but he didn’t care; her hand was still toying with the hem of his briefs… so there wasn’t much room for thoughts elsewhere. 

Before he could even form words, Demelza’s own were hot against his ear, leaving him alight with an electric current. “You have _no idea…_ how much that turns me on…” 

Was he in an alternate universe? Her words left him simmering, buried beneath waves of disbelief and gut-wrenching arousal. Her words bounced around his skull like some priceless record and he couldn’t get enough. 

“Hmm…” she hummed nonchalantly. “Perhaps I should show you…” she drawled near-silently against his throat, just before baring her teeth in an open-mouthed kiss that hastily turned into a eager bite. 

Rolling his eyes, Ross knew he was a goner. He had been _so_ set on getting up and going to the bathroom, getting on with his day like the responsible adult he knew he had to be these days… He had been _so_ sure he could leave her there, even despite how delectable and utterly edible she had looked asleep beside him. He had been so _sure_ that he had enough control… and yet here he was, pining like he was fifteen again. 

One thing was for certain, Demelza Carne had much more power than she even knew. 

He managed to let his next groan be stifled by her mouth as they began fighting for dominance in the kiss. This wasn’t romantic, nor was it at all like Demelza to want something so feral, but in the moment it felt entirely fitting. There was not a sound hitting her bedroom walls aside from their quiet uneven breathing, followed by the odd near-silent sound of when their lips finally broke apart. Demelza was beginning to realise that there was nothing more erotic than two people desperately trying to keep quiet and it felt her without any breath in her lungs. 

She felt so removed from herself, as though she had become someone else entirely, as she slid her hand down over the heat and hardness and revelled in the sheer masculinity of him. She pressed her hand against him and delighted in the hiss that he forced subsequently through his teeth. 

“So _help_ me _god_ ,” he wheezed as his hips surged into hers, pressing her against the mattress. “‘melza – _love – ”_  

She wasn’t sure what had gotten into her, but suddenly it was as though she had the power of all the world behind her, charging her forward into no mans land with a sudden lack of fear. Instead of feeling anxiety as she expected, Demelza instead was thrilled by his strength pressing her into the bed, as though the heat of his skin against hers might may even be transferring a fraction of his courage into her.

“I want you.” She didn’t recognise her own voice as she mouthed the words against his mouth. She didn’t recognise where the words came from either… but with such distractions, she hardly had the chance to dwell. 

Ross made a noise of discontent and reluctance as he once again became the voice of reason. “No, no, Demelza – we’ve been through this… We can’t – “

Deep in her mind, Demelza knew he was right. She couldn’t _have_ him today, not like this, with his cousin just around the corner… but that didn’t mean they couldn’t have fun.

“Shh, shh,” she cooed, silencing him with her mouth, claiming his doubts and burying them for tomorrow. “Let me do this.”

 _“Sweet Jesus,”_ he whimpered, feeling his entire body drumming as her hand came to hold him in her fist. 

She was anxious to be in charge this way, but also fired up at the prospect. She felt the ripple under his skin before she felt the near-silent heave escape his mouth. Chasing hasty kisses across his face, she felt the breath rush out of her as Ross slowly rolled until he was beneath her, baring his throat against her pillow. From her new position, she could see the dazed look in his eyes and the crown of curls that fanned against the sheets. The soft down on his chest tickled her palms as she braced herself above him, smirking at the look of shock on his face. His skin near scolded her as she smoothed her palm down, down until it was beneath his briefs. She giggled nervously at his instant look of bliss, choosing to hide her face against his chest rather than having to look at him for fear of eye contact. 

“That’s one smug look you’re wearing…” he breathed and as she lifted her smile from against his chest to look at him, she was greeted with a smile that no doubt reflected her own. 

“Well, what can I say…” she murmured, feeling ten feet tall as he froze beneath her, smoothing his fingers over her face in the tender way that made her heart stutter. “With this view?” He was growing by the second under her slight, hesitant fingers, so much so that she was suddenly desperate for something she had never desired before; the size of him…in her mouth. Such an urge took her by surprise, as she had told Ross just the other day of her fear of the male anatomy, but somehow it didn’t frighten her now. Yes, she was nervous and her hands trembled as they smoothed over him… but she wasn’t choked and consumed by fear. Not today. 

Before long, she was face to face with the glory of him, rock solid and pulsing with the power of his heartbeat. She had never been so close to a naked man, faced with the blatant truth of his desire. She found herself licking her lips at the sheen on his skin, itching to feel the heat of him everywhere. Shifting her gaze upward, she caught sight of him looking down at her questioningly through hooded eyes, evidently not expecting her to make the move she was making. Surged her with the desire to shock him, she meant down and kissed the length of him, hot and solid beneath her lips. 

“Oh, god,” he groaned lowly, bucking his hips toward her face. “ _Love –_ you don’t have to – ”

Dragging her nails down his chest, she let her tongue trail over the length of him and that was all the answer she need give. Slowly, she attempted to remember all the stories she had ever been told about blowjobs, what to do and what not to do, as she wasn’t at all sure what was right or wrong. With a deep breath, she attempted desperately to push her anxiety about not being good enough deep, deep beneath her newfound desire and took him into her mouth. Instantly, the leap into the unknown was worth it for the noise he made, a breathless squeak from the back of his throat, followed nearly instantly by a rumble from somewhere much, _much_ deeper. Reaching up blindly, she pressed her fingers to his lips, releasing him from her mouth enough to shush him, urging him to be quiet. His trademark stubble tickled her palm and she rivalled in its slight scratch and softness. Puckering his lips, she felt him kiss her fingertips before taking them into his mouth, enveloping them in stark heat and moisture with the slight graze of his teeth.  She took him back into her mouth with renewed enthusiasm, delighting in his touch but also in the sheer size of him, entirely at her mercy. She hummed softly with him against her tongue and felt his hips surge forward in response, his lower lip tight between his teeth as he barely kept in an animalistic groan from deep in his throat. 

“Oh, ‘melza,” he whispered shakily, his strong hands weaving into her curls at the back of her head. “Good girl…” he whimpered, sounding as though he was stewing in disbelief. “Such a good girl…” 

She felt his words both hit her with a sense of satisfaction but also with a familiar pang of anxiety. _But I don’t want to be good… I want be desirable…_

In a desperate attempt, she bared her teeth a little, feeling desire shoot through her like wildfire as he barely suppressed a groan as a result, baring his jugular up toward the ceiling, tensions becoming prominent out of his skin. There was a long, long moment until Demelza felt him breathe again, a choking gasp that only rose from his chest when she tucked her teeth back behind her lips. 

“You should come with a health warning,” he wheezed, his eyes firmly closed, “with those teeth!”

“Oh! Sorry!” she gasped, letting go of him from her lips with a pop as she looked up at him self consciously. “Did I – was that not – ?”

“Shh,” he hushed, shakily guarding her close enough for a kiss. “You’re… _exquisite.”_

All the same, though he assured her repeatedly that he had not meant that she had done wrong, such anxieties lingered long afterward as she queued for groceries, or as she passed the house phone and craved to ring him again. 

Was this how it was for everyone? Was this normal, to worry about such small details peck away at your mind like some carnivorous bird? 

She was beginning to think not. 

* * *

 “Are you listening?”

Verity’s voice broke through Demelza’s lusty reverie and left her feeling hot with shame that she had allowed her mind to divert so. She and Ross’ heated morning had lasted barely any time at all before Ross finally had to go, leaving her kisses across her face with the haste of a desperate man. She had felt cold without him there, even when back beneath the duvet – the only thing leaving lasting heat behind being the memory of his parting kiss at the front door. 

‘ _Would you hold it against me if I confessed I’d rather hide in your bed forever than go out and earn charity money?’_ She’d grinned against the side of his face at his uncharacteristic confession, pulling him back to her for one last kiss… and then another. 

“Sorry, Verity – ‘was just away with th’ fairies. Wha’ were you sayin’?”

Back in the present and Demelza and Verity were shopping for clothing for Demelza to wear at the Grace Poldark Foundation Gala, which was in a week and a half by now, though so thin was Demelza’s patience with shopping that she had long stopped seeing anything past a sea of colours and shapeless fabrics. She was dismayed as everything was either _far_ too expensive or not at all what she was looking for. She had stood under the hideously unflattering changing room lights and cringed at the sight of herself in Verity’s picks, all too frilly or too tight, too baggy in the boob area or too bland and childish. How was she _ever_ to feel glamorous in a room full of wealthy patrons, or sexy for Ross… when she felt like a tree in a dress in every single one?

“What about this one?” Verity repeated as Demelza focused her attention this time, hiding behind the curtain of the cubicle, silently self conscious by her cheap, cotton underwear. Demelza went to look wearily at her friend, who was forever _exhaustingly_ jolly, only to be pleasantly surprised by the metallic mustard gold shimmer over her arm. 

“Oh, I don’t rightly know if I could pull of that…” she trailed, though she was already reaching out to touch the silk. 

“What? Of _course_ you could!” Verity dismissed excitedly, laying the garment over Demelza’s waiting arm. Instantly, before she had even left it up to see it’s shape, Demelza knew she loved it. It _felt_ like liquid gold in her hands it was so soft and it shined like a gold bar beneath the fluorescent lights. She pulled the curtain across the entrance to the cubicle and thumbed the fabric lovingly, unable to stop herself gushing aloud at it’s eye catching beauty. She felt like a child, captivated by a colourful new toy… but mostly because she couldn’t help but think of how Ross might like it. 

She unzipped the dress and delighted in the ease of the movement of the clasp. Stepping into it, she felt worth a million pounds as the fabric seemed to caress her skin and fit to her curves in all the right places. The silk was a mustard gold and stood in stark contrast with her hair, leaving her pleasantly surprised that it didn’t appear wash her out. The boat neckline was high and straight across, from one collarbone to the other with a peep of each shoulder showing, only to then dip seductively to reveal her shoulder blades and mid-back in a delightful curve. The fabric was pinned and gathered subtly beneath her bust, trimming in her waist and making her feel delicate. She had never felt delicate before. As she looked at herself in the mirror, fastening the dress at the seam to the side just as Verity called in to enquire how it looked. 

“I think… it’s good!” she answered, unable to keep the surprise from her voice. Verity was in the cubicle a moment later, clapping and grinning. 

“Oh, Demelza!” she gasped, pulling up Demelza’s shoulder-grazing curls at the back of her head, as though testing the look of a high hairstyle with the dress; a look of satisfaction on her face. “It’s _perfect!_ Oh, Ross will be drooling!”

Instantly, Demelza felt her pulse race in her chest at the thought of him, looking at herself in the mirror as the flush of pink rose up her neck. She couldn’t stand still when she thought of him, let alone control the adrenaline that spiked in her blood. 

“Y’think so?” she probed quietly, shy and hesitant as she daren’t hope that she might actually impress a man with the standards and history of Ross Poldark. 

Verity made a noise that said, “Honestly!” before hugging her friend and nattering about shoes. Demelza’s smile came easily now, her relief at finding a dress making her nerves and frustration finally subside. She giggled at Verity’s ability to find matching shoes in minutes, but was suddenly weighed down with the realisation that she surely could not afford all this, as Verity began to chat about earrings. 

“Verity! I can’t afford all this – “ 

Verity’s enthusiastic bounce of a walk halted as she frowned, but only slightly. “Well, I – “

Demelza broke her off before she could suggest lending her anything, feeling the shame na guilt of her own financial position heavy on her shoulders and she shifted uncomfortably. “ – _No,_ Verity, no! Don’t you dare!”

Verity wasn’t giving up. “Okay – borrow some of my shoes, then!”

Demelza sighed, feeling another wave of dismay directed inwardly. “Oh, Verity. You’re kind but I could hardly fit my _man_ feet into your dainty things.”

“What about Caroline?” Verity suggested. “She’s more your size and must have ten _million_ shoes.” 

“I’ll ask her in the week. S’pose we can sort somethin’,” Demelza murmured distractedly, squinting at the label on the dress with a gnawing guilt. She couldn’t spent seventy pounds on a dress! How could she? She didn’t know if she would even be able to find work once the summer term was over and even if she could, she would need every penny to afford renting through the summer… Otherwise, we’d have to go home to her father, which was _not_ an option. 

Sneaking a glance down at the silk that smoothed against her skin, she sighed reluctantly, feeling the heavy temptation to give in weighing on her shoulders. She didn’t like to tell to someone as lucky in life as Verity… but she’d never bought herself anything half as refined and delicate at this dress, never mind as expensive. _But think how you’ll feel wearing it for Ross,_ an unknown voice reminded, metaphorically nudging her into submission. 

Verity’s hands gently curled around her own as Demelza all but forgotten she was there, lost in thought. “Treat yourself,” she urged with her usual persistent kindness.“You deserve it.”  

Demelza returned her friend's smile but the expression wobbled. Verity pretended not to notice.

* * *

 

_“So, did you get a dress?”_

Ross’ question was will with a false nonchalance, as though he was determined not to sound overly-eager about such a thing, but she could hear the humour he was trying to hide. 

“I may have,” she smirked into the dim of the living room, staring lovely at the shimmering gold of said gown as it hung from the back of the door in its dust jacket. 

 _“Good,”_ he replied smoothly, sounding quietly pleased, though she couldn’t quite tell through the distance of the telephone. _“I’m glad.”_

“I bet y’are,” she countered, balancing the house phone between her ear and her shoulder as she went about clearing up dishes from dinner, attempting not to get tangled in its coiled wire. She was smirking, thinking of his wondering hands and cheeky grin as she joked once again, _“Y’big perv!”_

The chuckle that rose through the earpiece and into her ear made her smile widen to the point of aching cheeks. _“Guilty as charged,”_ he concurred. She could practically see the smirk his lips would be curled into. _“But then, you’re not exactly clean these days either, Demelza, my love.”_

Her cheeks tingled with the rising heat of her blush. Memories of him in her mouth leaving the familiar itch of excitement suddenly awake in her bones, making her wish he was here. “Ross,” she sighed breathlessly. “Don’t.”

 _“I didn’t say anything,”_ he dismissed innocently, before he let slip a yawn. 

“You need to sleep, Ross,” she murmured affectionately, wrinkling her nose as she passed her reflection in the mirror. 

 _“Once I’ve finished this paperwork. A donation never came through that is supposed to be regular and now we’re sort for the gala’s budget – “_ he rambled, his voice suddenly gruff with frustration. 

“ – Is there anything I can do?” she asked, out of habit rather than any hope that she actually could. 

Ross let out a chuckle that made her squirm and she flopped herself down in Verity's usual armchair. _“No, just… Tell me to go and work,”_ he hinted. _“Or I’ll just sit here and procrastinate to the sound of your voice – ”_

“ – You’ll do no such thing, Ross!” she retorted self-consciously, pushing her hand through her curls as they tickled her shoulders. She really needed a haircut! “Honestly, your mind is well an’ truly in the gutter. To think you play Managing Director in the daytime!”

 _“I can be quite the grown up when I want to be,”_ he defended gently, raising goosebumps up her arms. _“Have I not proved such qualities yet?”_

Pressing her lips together to keep from laughing, she shook her head to herself. Reaching into her pocket, she toyed with the fragile Polaroid that had been there ever since the day he brought it to her with the flu almost two weeks ago. Gently, her thumb grazed his silhouette, the arch of his curls crowning the darkened face that was hidden by his camera, all intense and artsy. _Yes,_ she wanted to say. _Yes, you have._

“I can hardly make such a statement without seein' you in a suit first,” she drawled playfully, silently biting her lip and fantasising at the imagine her mind created, his frame all wrapped up tightly in expensive linens and cotton tied together with the perfect black tie. 

Down the line, he laughed, a weary but tremendously warm sound. There was a soft silence that followed, filled with unvoiced promise and anticipation. 

Then – “You should go, Ross,” she said, unable to think of any further excuses to stay on the line. “It’s late…” Taking a deep breath, she basked in the butterflies that swarmed and filled her stomach, almost rising up her throat. 

“Ah, yes,” he sighed, gently, suddenly sounding throughly pleased with himself. “Big day… I can’t for the life of me remember why, though.”

She couldn’t keep her excitement at bay, as the sudden reality of what tomorrow may bring leaving her fidgeting in her seat and coiling the telephone wire around her fingers so tight it almost cut off the blood. Rolling her eyes, she bit out a laugh. “Okay, Ross. I’ll see you tomorrow then, I suppose.”

“Don’t miss your train!” he instructed softly, so unbearable soft, as though he was but a slither from pleading. 

Suddenly, she had to fight the urge to giggle, despite the fact nothing was funny, filled to the brim with nerves. “Try and make me!” she cried joyfully, for once feeling as though she might just be hoping for something that wasn’t too far over the mountain. 

* * *

Verity sent her on her way at Bristol station, sealing her journey with a bag of ‘essentials’ and a kiss on the cheek. Demelza was trying her hardest to focus on her breathing throughout her journey, wishing her Walkman hadn’t packed in, for at least it would have provided her with some sort of distraction and solace. As it was, she was left to listen to the chatter of strangers and press her forehead against the cool glass of the window. Watching the endless countryside go by, she couldn’t help but think of all the time she used to spend wondering if she would ever find anyone who even remotely excited her… only to recede into pessimism and dismay when she didn’t, year after year. 

Now, mere minutes away from being with Ross again and she couldn’t quite understand why all she could feel were the whirring insecurities of her former self, rather than excitement. She had always assumed, once she found someone to love, such incapacitating demons would be satisfied; that such insistences she _wasn’t good enough_ or _pretty_ enough or _smart_ enough would disappear.  Never, of course, was life so simple. 

As it was, she was left mystified as to why she felt so utterly frightened. Ross’ presence made her feel light and airy, yes – like she always assumed love would feel like by the idealistic romantic films she grew up gazing at. But, it also made her frightened. He represented everything she didn’t know, everything that was so utterly unknown to her… everything she was terrified of. He was strong, wilful, passionate… sexual. He wasn’t careful or delicate or fragile. He was a predator where she felt like prey; all tempting, unyielding brown eyes and soft, encouraging smiles. She had never considered that perhaps Ross wouldn’t heal her wounds, until now, when the realisation seemed to dawn on her with the chill and surprise of a tidal wave. He could easily be a soothing balm for them, yes, as being with him made her feel things she thought she’d never feel… but the idea that even Ross could not mend her? It was a truth she wasn't sure she could currently accept as reality. 

As it was, she needed Ross to be the answer…otherwise, where did that leave her?

Stepping off the train and onto the long, busy platform, Demelza gazed at the beauty of the historic Kings Cross station with an open mouth. Demelza had never been to London before, having never been taken anywhere further than the South West of england by her father. (He had cabled London ‘far too bleedin’ expensive’ and _‘for ponsey folk!’_. Verity couldn’t quite believe it when she had said, Demelza’s cheeks stained with the tell-tale signs of embarrassment at her life’s poverty, only to quickly recover herself and tell Demelza it was beautiful and that she would love every moment. Ross had booked her train tickets and had them posted to her Bristol residence, so she had not the slightest clue what they precisely cost. She decided promptly when they arrived that she was going to count her blessings and therefore didn’t want to know. 

The high Victorian ceiling made a Cornish, country girl feeling increasing small as she walked with her small holdall down towards the signposted main exit. All around her were what looked like business people, together with felt hats and long, dark coats, but there were families too. Beside her, a young couple walked hastily, quickly overtaking her with footsteps completely in sync with one another, their eyes on each other’s faces and barely looking to see where they were going as though they didn’t care, just so long as they could keep gazing on.  Instantly, she thought of Ross, unable to keep from looking out for him with every step closer to the exit. Inside her chest, she felt the all-too-familiar flutter of panic, leaving her breath short and her mouth dry. The red lipstick she wore now felt like a paste on her lips as she seemed to lose all hydration to her nerves, though her hands remained irritatingly moist as they became clammy against her low-waisted jeans. Scanning faces, she still couldn’t see him and hastily her mind began to formulate worst-case scenarios that left her even more short of breath.

What if he’d forgotten? Or changed his mind? What if––

Her mind’s paranoia was silenced as she caught sight of him, poised against the stone pillar to the left of the ticket gates. He had spotted her already, unashamedly looking her up and down rather than calling her over, it seemed; dressed in a sinful combination of a dark teal suit with a black t-shirt, his jacket carelessly slung over one arm. She bit her tongue to keep from sticking it out at him, inwardly chastising herself to be a grown up. Trying her best not to look hurried, she closed the ten foot or so between them. The man himself looked edible in his outfit. Demelza personally had never liked the ‘overdressed’ nature of fashion when she was growing up in the 1980’s but much preferred simple, elegant cuts. Ross Poldark made looking handsome in such a suit – simple but incredibly relaxed in its loose-fitting cut – absolutely effortless. The waist height of the slouch style suit trousers meant his classic black t-shirt was tucked in tidily, framing his broad shape in a way that made her mouth water. 

As she reached him, his smile suddenly revealed teeth and he pushed off the wall enough close the final few feet between them just as she rushed to meet him. As though as easy as lifting the newspaper under his arm, he had her feet off the ground in a hug she had never received the likes of from anyone before. It made her throat tighten immediately, so she buried her face into the cotton of his t-shirt to banish any hint of tears away. 

“Ah, I missed you!” he sighed lowly into her ear, swaying their bodies as he squeezed her in his hold. Against his shoulder, she urged she’d missed him too, but barely did so above a whisper for she didn't trust her voice not to crack. 

When they pulled apart, Ross eyes were vocal in their usual way, seeming to communicate words that his mouth never did as his mouth folded into a much more shy expression. The smile was small and created dimples in his cheeks as he momentary couldn’t seem to be able to look at her, instead giving her a wonderful view of his full dark lashes as he looked down at his hands, which were now holding hers so delicately the lump in her throat returned with a vengeance. 

“I’d forgotten how ugly you are,” she added, suddenly needing to break the static tension, forgetting her lipstick as she began to chew on her lip. Ross’ seriousness instantly dissolved and left her feeling in control again. Looking over his face, now relaxed in humour, she suddenly realised what it was that was different about him. “You’ve cut your hair!” she cried in realisation. When she’d last seen him in Bristol, his hair had been so long he’d been able to tie it up, just about. Now, it was tidy both at his neck and at his hairline, though the tell-tale frizz was still there. Instead of a near ponytail, his head was a crown of shorter, smarter curls that only just touched his collar… but of course still grazed his forehead.

He looked older this way, despite his ever-present stubble. The more adult haircut combined with his suit left him looking like a yuppie of times gone by… and for some reason, it left Demelza grinning. 

“I had meetings and Henshawe rightly reminded me it wouldn’t be a good idea to go to see the bank manager looking a little less like a lost student.” He leant forward and took her bag from where she had dropped it by her feet, only to sneak a kiss to her cheek as he moved to stand straight again. 

“Ross!” she admonished needlessly with a giggle, still ridiculously embarrassed by public displays of affection… or perhaps completely baffled by them.  He ignored her weak attempts to berate him and took her hand. 

“We’ll get a taxi… unless of course you wish to be subjected to the tube.”

Demelza frowned, wrinkling her nose at the prospect. “I don’t do too well with tight spaces and I’ve heard they’re awful crowded.”

A stride or so ahead of her, Ross was chuckling. She tugged at his hand in the hope she might get an answer out of him as to what she seemed to say that was funny. He simply replied with an arm around her waist and a grin that Demelza couldn’t help but equate with the phase ‘the cat who go the cream’. 

* * *

 

Demelza learned very quickly that if there was one thing to know about London, it was that it was frightfully busy. The black cabs were spacious and quiet, at least, so she could watch the chaos from behind a safe window of glass, warmed by Ross’ closeness. He’d opened the door for her when he’d hailed the cab, something she had only ever seen in films in equal measure, before calling “Primrose Hill, if you would, sir,” at the driver through the glass. 

She could feel him watching her now, as she stared at the setting Friday sun and the rush of commuters trying to get home to start the weekend. Bringing her gaze back to him, she found he was sat as close to her as the seat would allow, without even a seatbelt to separate them. 

“Ross!” she urged instantly, reaching over to grab his seatbeat. “Put your belt on – are you such a rightly mess that you’d risk gettin’ splatted against the glass?”

Ross laughed at her again but moved to do as she asked. “What is this, Miss Carne?” he enquired in jest, cocking his head at her. “ _Concern?_ For _me?”_

Demelza shook her head at him as though admonishing a child, though that only made his teasing worse. “O’ course I’m concerned about what happens to you, Ross.”

The words were heavier than expected a left a quiet moment of contemplation in their wake. Risking looking back up into his face, Demelza was greeted with that rarer, softer smile again, one that said he was almost embarrassed. In a flash though, he pulled her to him and pressed a kiss to her head, banishing the expression but triggering palpitations from her chest with the tenderness of this one simple move. 

“One day, you’ll learn to take a joke,” he cooed against her hair.

“ _One day, you’ll_ learn not to be such a child.” She felt his laugh as his chest vibrated with the sound where her hands had come to rest at his middle. It was only then that she felt his hand deliberately drifting beyond her hip to caress her demin-clad behind to provoke her. “Or then again, p’raps not,” she grumbled, unable to resist, biting back a smirk. The snark was to make him laugh more, which it worked and her pulse was left racing all the more because of it. She was beginning to think his laugh might just be her favourite sound. 

“Where are we going?” she asked, her head now drooped onto his shoulder as they lulled into relaxed silence. 

“A place of solace,” he replied cryptically, continuing to send sparks through her nervous system as his fingers draw patterns on her demin-clad knee, innocently inching towards her thigh.

“Meanin’ what?” 

 _“You’ll see,”_ he urged softly, his warm breath breathing through her hair. “You’ll love it.”

Demelza, not one for surprises, reluctantly gave up. “Since when did y’start spouting such riddles?”

She felt his smile stretch against her ear. “Since I realised what fun it was to wind you up.”

That earned him a thump to his toned middle from Demelza, which only hurt her elbow more than it did him thanks to his profuse exercise regime. Out the window, she watched as the scenery began to change from one of back to back cars and congestion grey to door to door white terraced houses, complete with symmetrical pillars framing each black door. She became transfixed as each went by, losing all hope of nonchalance in her expression as they passed a gated community with white residences twice the size of those before, hidden behind high fences and perfectly spaced trees. In the lessening daylight, the glow from the windows gave a hint of what splendour that was hidden inside, allowing her to catch sight of a grand chandelier descended from a high, stately ceiling; more regal than anything she had ever seen. 

“Cumberland Terrace,” Ross informed in her ear, making her jump, seeming to note her awestruck gaze. 

“I’ve never seen old buildings so grand!” she breathed, unable to help but close her eyes and picture another life; a fantasy in which she never had to worry about where rent would come from next; one that saw a life in which her ghosts and demons were far, far away, the pearl coloured walls acting as shield from the pains of reality. “Not even in Bristol.”

Ross hummed, seemingly in agreement. Turning her head, she came within an inch of Ross’ face, so close she could make out every freckle. He was looking down at her as though he had a secret, an expression so intense she had to look away, her cheeks feeling increasingly hot. His gaze didn’t falter, thus hers remained down at their laps, trained on where their thighs to pressed parallel together. Her right leg crossed over his knee as well as her own, grazing his calf. 

“Hey,” he cooed, breaking her impromptu utopian daydream with a gentle nudge to her chin, tipping her face up to meet him. There was a pause and he grazed the pad of this thumb over her lower lip, leaving a tingly heat behind. “You were somewhere far away for a second there.” She swallowed hard and smiled, but she felt her smile wobble, feeling unsteady under the weight of his scrutiny. “Is everything alright?” Suddenly, the deep furrows appeared between his brows and the whites of his eyes became visible, a look she now knew to mean panic. “You’re not regretting this already, are you?”

For once, a response came easily. “Of course not, Ross!” Her reply was almost terse, like a mother betraying her child for a foolish suggestion, which she had not intended. Instantly though, he continued ability to be so easily riled seemed to put him back at ease. His smile returned, as did his laughter. 

“I have missed you, _almighty one,_ ” he teased, happily allowing the assumption that he was always foolish and she was always right. “What would I do without you here to berate me?”

“Lead someone to their death with your ridiculous inability to be sensible?”

The laughter that escaped his chest was sudden and loud and made her feel smug. 

“Oh, Demelza, how well you already know me.”

When the black cab slowed again, it stopped all together. Opening the door, Ross helped her out of the car with an offer of an outstretched hand before leaning through the passenger window with a handful of banknotes. The first thing that occurred to Demelza as she moved onto the pavement was the quiet. They couldn’t have travelled more than twenty minutes from all the noise and chaos of Kings Cross and yet she could barely hear the tell-tale signs of a city at all. As the sun was in its final stages of setting, the paint of the terraced houses in front of her were tinted a pretty pink. While the one before her was a very European shade of off white, each that followed was a different pastel shade, some grey, some blue, some even yellow; all with pretty Juliet balconies. The pavement featured yet more evenly spaced trees, adding a delightful splash of green.  No, it wasn’t Cornwall; it wasn’t the spacious countryside; but it was idilic, in its own way – a way Demelza had never known possible before. 

“This way,” Ross called, beckoning her to follow him down the pavement. His warm hand grasping hers, he let her toward down the road until they reached a quaint pale brick terraced house much like the others but with many more trees along the front path. Once through the cast iron gate, the shiny black door was up a series of steps, surrounded by a delightful mint paint until the black iron Juliet balcony, where the beige brick began. 

“Is this _yours_?” she breathed, unable to believe people could actually afford to live in such isolated pockets of beauty in the middle of a city. 

“It was my mother’s,” he answered; it didn’t escape Demelza’s notice that his voice was unusually soft whenever he mentioned her. As he turned the key in the lock and let her inside and into a homely entrance hall, he continued to speak, kicking off his dress shoes as she did the same with her slip-ons. “She had the sense to put it in my name, not my father’s: he wasn’t so good with finances, at the end…”

“Nor my father neither!” she contributed weakly, unsure of what else to say to such  thing. There’s an intense quiet as Ross leads her into the kitchen, small and homely and off-white in colour. 

“Tea?” Ross asked, out of habit, as he felt a familiar sense of bashful awkwardness. Demelza recognised the feeling as one she too was feeling, thus pushing herself forward and forward into his space. Without pause, she took the kettle from his hands gently and went to fill the water, giving him a bemused look when he stopped in his tracks. 

“C’mon then. Fetch the teabags! Don’t just stand there gawpin’.” Her gentle chastisement worked as he rolled his eyes at her in exaggeration before moving to do so. 

“Any preference?” he asked, directly her gaze to the cupboard which, to her astonishment, was filled with brands of tea. 

“Judas – wha’ are you, a halfway house?!”

“It’s just good to be prepared for the occasional visitor.”

“ _Occasional?”_ Laughing, Demelza, found herself gripping him by the arm affectionately. “How many women do you have visitin’ you then, Ross? Do you tempt them over with the your _tea collection_?” Despite the tiny niggle of insecurity such a sentence awoke in Demelza’s own mind, she amused herself.

 “Sadly Demelza, thus far it’s not been much of an effective tactic,” he replied with equally quick wit. His face was crinkled in the delightful way that told of his humour, as deep chuckles made their way form deep in his chest and he pretended to be outraged by her suggestion.

“Oh, I’m _sure_ not!” she giggled, flashing him a sideways glance over her shoulder as she reached up into the cupboard for her most favourite brand – and one she could never afford. 

And just like that, they moved around the kitchen with relative ease, fetching what was necessary for this very English ritual, milk, sugar, mugs; both most intentionally prolonging the tension of the impending unknown that simmered between them. For what reason? Demelza couldn’t quite say. On her side, it was most likely out of fear and uncertainty. On _his_? She could but guess it was all down to the thrill of the chase.

As the kettle bubbled, they stalled, with nothing left to do but wait for it. Stood opposite one another as both leant against parallel kitchen counters, Demelza couldn’t help but stand with a constant simpering expression as Ross’ own smile never faltered. Both, no doubt, had things they wished to say, but Demelza could sense that they were both unsure of the ground they were currently walking on. 

After all, she suddenly realised with a start, no wonder this felt odd. It was the very first time they had ever been entirely alone. 

“Tis a beautiful house,” she piped up as she directed her gaze past him and over his shoulder at the portrait photograph that hung on the adjacent wall, the eyes of the woman in the photograph _just_ as familiar as those of the young boy in her arms. 

“I was lucky father never got hold of it,” he explained, as though she had asked, looking around him as though the place was unfamiliar to him. “These days, it’s worth a fortune more than Mum bought it for and if he’d got hold of it… Well, it would be in the debt pile.” 

Demelza looked up at the familiar beautiful, almost Arabian-looking woman, with the big brown eyes, and instantly felt such immense sadness for Ross. “Do you like it here?”

Ross cleared his throat. “There’s a reason I don’t stay here unless I have to, if that’s what you mean.” Pushing off the counter, he took the kettle off of its perch, just as it began to whistle. “Cornwall is home, where I grew up. This was just a base for when either of them had to work – until of course – “

 _Until she got ill._ She knew what he was going to say without him having to finish, somehow. It was the look he had, as though suddenly pouring hot water into mugs was the most fascinating task that required all his attention, when she knew in fact his sudden downcast expression was to hide the ghost of a lost little boy that appeared in the pinch of his eyes. 

“Thank you,” she murmured as he handed her the tea, perching on the bar stool on the other side of the island. Without warning, a great yawn rose from her gut, reminding her of her lack of sleep the previous night in her fever of anticipation. Ross seemed to not only take pity, but agree, as he simply smiled as though she had done something as endearing and mundane as complimenting his hair.  

“Oh – Judas – I’m sorry,” she went to excuse, but he cut her off. 

“Oh, Demelza, please – I’m glad you’re tired because now I don’t feel so ashamed for being utterly _exhausted_.”

She watched him visibly sag against the counter now, taking a long sip of tea and sighing heavily. Before she could formulate a response, his hand had reached across the counter and clasped over her empty one, where it had been resting. This wasn’t a statement, nor a move to imply intent. Demelza felt herself sag too, but with relief. This was simply comfort he was offering, with no expectations attached… and it felt wonderful. 

She sighed, displaying this belief, she hoped, in the renewed relaxed expression of the smile she gave. 

“You look so beautiful today.” The words came from nowhere and Demelza was convinced by the bite of his lip that they startled them both equally. But, in his typical way, Ross had relaxed into his choice of words in an instant, not the type to mull over beating about the bush.  He could tell by her body language that she found compliments hard to swallow. Her sudden need to gulp down tea indicated she was uncomfortable. She knew he had realised by the way his fingers squeezed her free hand.  

“Oh, I don’t know – “ she began. 

“ – Well, I _do,_ ” he answered sternly, nodding his head at her. “And you do.” His eyes were the picture of resolve when she dared to peep at them from the rim of her mug, smiling at her inability to believe such a simple fact. 

“An’ _I’d_ rightful forgott’n how _righteous_ _you_ are!” she jibed softly, pouting, as though his giving her a compliment and refusing her rebuke of it somehow offended her. He knew better, of course – that she was playing him to make him laugh.  Seconds later, they were both laughing at her, yet again, entirely accurate assessment of his character. 

“Shall I show you upstairs?” he asked softly, seeing by the flush to her cheeks that she was hoping for a change of subject; anything not to be the centre of attention. 

Together, they abandoned their half-finished tea and made their way back into the hall and up the stairs, at which Demelza marvelled due to the sheer visible _age_ of them. At the top of the first floor, Ross indicated the location of a bathroom and guest bedroom before moving up another flight of stairs to the master. It was here, at the threshold that was clearly where he slept, that he paused. 

It was the smallest of movements, but it spoke volumes and left her wanting to squeeze him in her arms. His hesitation told her he knew of her own trepidation; that he felt the gravity of this next step, too. 

“This is the master bedroom,” he informed, somewhat rigidly. “It wasn’t, but my father had it changed once my mum passed. He couldn’t go back in there, you know.” Demelza gazed dreamily at the kingsize bed and felt an overwhelming urge to jump into the middle of it. “Make yourself comfortable.” 

The room was light and airy and decorated with a beautiful mural that looked to be Cornwall on one statement wall, the lilac and purple of the cornflowers warm and familiar. 

“This is lovely,” she commented aloud as she approached the wall and smoothed her hand over the paint. 

“My mother liked to paint.” Behind her, Ross’ voice was close. She glanced over her shoulder, he was looking at her with talkative eyes again, but this time, they weren’t sad but thoughtful in a more optimistic way. In the quiet that followed, Demelza moved back towards the bed, smoothing the hand down the linens, placing her bag down by her feet. Slowly, she sat down on the soft mattress and left herself fall backward against the pillows. With a heavy sigh, she closed her eyes. A moment later, she felt the mattress dip, incubating her in the warm emitted from Ross’ familiar body. A soft groan of satisfaction tickled her neck as he praised some higher power for the comfort of the bed. 

“We don’t have reservations until nine,” he murmured, already sounding noticeably sleepy. Cracking open an eye, she gazed at his immobile form at her side. His face was neutral and weary, eyes still open and looking over her face intently in the way that made her cheeks radiate heat. 

“Are we going somewhere nice?” she whispered, slowly, curling until her hand blindly found his arm before using it as a pillow. Beneath her, Ross chuckled lowly before pulling her from his arm to his chest, smoothing his hands over her hair and down her back. 

“Later? Of course. But, now? Nap time.”

The firm muscles of his chest were hard under her head, but the warmth and serenity of the sound of his heart lulled her quickly into relaxation that bordered on sleep. His arms remained around her, thumbs making circles on the small of her back, both lulling her toward sleep while also igniting her nerves with his tiny, electric touches. 

“Oh, good,” she sighed, leaning to kiss his neck, more than satisfied with that plan. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ross' house is real. I walked passed it every day on my way to work this summer and can't help but imagine Demelza there because of the amount of trees it had, even in central London. 
> 
> It can be found in Primrose Hill in Holborn, London, if any non-Brits wish to google the area :)


	14. Beckoning (Part II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is it.... Romelza's first real date. 
> 
> Thank you to those you've come back to this after so long. <3 
> 
> This chapter has some heavy context layering so hold tight. 
> 
>  
> 
> Rights go to BBC, Mammoth, Winston (duh)

Demelza cursed Caroline for giving her such a short dress to wear for dinner as she tried to pull up the stubborn zip. Ross had given her leave to get dressed, but not before she had refused to move from her napping cocoon, unashamedly gazing at him as he had gotten changed himself. Not that he had seemed to mind; if anything, he seemed to enjoy having an audience. With Ross’ foundation gala being the following day, Saturday, but her arrival in London being on the Friday, she had realised almost all too late that she would need something nice to wear _other_ than the gold dress. Luckily, Caroline had come to her rescue with a ‘saviour of a little black dress’, though nothing she owned was without its fashionable quirks. This particular number had a bardot top, off both shoulders that sat straight across her chest, meaning none of the few bras Demelza had brought could be worn with it without the unsightly addition of bra straps on show. There was a slight faux fur lining the neckline, before it trimmed into her waist and then fell into a straight skirt that finished just above the knee. She paired it with black tights to minimise her self consciousness and she simple black heels she had owned for two years since. 

She had agonised over what make up to put on her face, realising that too much could prove incredibly impractical, should things…escalate between the two of them once they returned from their dinner, which she truly hoped they would. Eventually, she settled for subtle cat-eye flicks at the corners of her eyes and some mascara, rouging her cheeks with blush and donning her ‘time to be brave’ red lipstick. Lastly, she blotted on a tiny dash of perfume from the nearly finished bottle Verity had handed off to her. The intoxicatingly sophisticated scent of Chanel No. 5 filled her senses and alone left her feeling like the luckiest girl in the world.

Carefully clicking down the stairs, she caught sight of him moving into the kitchen, his broad shoulders a fleeting sight. He was dressed in a black cotton polo-neck tucked into high-waisted black dress trousers, making him look as though he had fallen out of a catalog for the cliché Italian adonis. Following him into the kitchen, he took in the sight of him in full, intently gazing at the open Financial Times on the countertop. His curls were neatly pushed back with some form of wax, it seemed, but as always, one perfect spiral fell down to graze his brow.  At the sound of her feels on the stone floor, his head snapped to attention. She watched with a slightly smug exterior as he let out a whistle and his eyes roamed her form from head to toe. One step at a time, he closed the gap between them until he had his hands at the curve of her waist, looking down at her with a confidence that left her feeling both boasted and dwarfed. 

“My, my, Demelza,” he cooed as he closed the final few inched between them. “Do you have any idea of how… _mouthwatering_ you look?” 

In the last second before he pressed his lips to hers, she remembered her lipstick and draw back enough to pull him up short. “No, Ross! Lipstick!” Ross instantly groaned like a beseeched child and instead dropped his face to her shoulder, nuzzling his face, soft stubble and all, against her throat. Her breathing trembled as she had no choice but to reach and anchor herself to him, holding onto the strength of his arms for dear life.  

“Always so _damn_ sensible!” he sighed with a tortured laugh as he retracted himself. “But also so damn _right.”_ With a deep breath, he pressed a compromising kiss to her cheek. His eyes were more talkative than ever as he took her hand and led her toward the door, leaving her with the distinct feeling that they held some sort of promise. 

Once out into the unusually warm May evening air, they began to walk in the direction of Regents Park, or so Ross informed her, in search of a cab.  With a playful, almost childish spring to his step, he never let her go for the entire journey, barely even so when he opened the taxi door for her to get in and out. They fell into easy conversation about their lives during the last two weeks; Demelza told Ross all of her latest essay assignments and the poetry she’d read, while Ross in turn explained the latest venture that his mother’s foundation’s donations were paying for. 

He upheld his secrecy throughout the twenty minute taxi journey through the chaos of central London nightlife, letting Demelza instead gawp once more at the eternally-shifting environment out the window.  She noted they were now in a section of the city she did recognise, Piccadilly, as the taxi came to a halt on a main road.  As they went to step out, Demelza was shocked to find a stranger in uniform opening the door for them both. Ross didn't blink an eye as he paid the driver through the glass and stepped out, thanking the man warmly. Kindly, Ross held out his hand to assist her in stepping down and out of the vehicle, squeezing her waist once she was beside him. 

“Where are we?” she asked softly, though a moment later, her question was answered on its own. A golden plaque to the left of an eight foot door read ‘The Wolseley’ in an vintage script that implied grandeur even before getting a glimpse within. The taxi door assistant was in fact the doorman to the restaurant. Demelza gazed in bemusement at him, donned in a top hat and fitted black overcoat, beneath which was a grey suit and black tie, waistcoat even! 

“Good evening, sir – ma’am,” he greeted as he opened the first of two heavy double doors, one of which was proceeded by a heavy curtain to keep out the night air. With the drawing back of the curtain, Demelza was momentarily lost for breath. Before her was a restaurant grander than anything she had ever seen; high art deco arches made up ceiling of two storey height with tables on a mezzanine level overlooking the ground floor, where intimate booths were each lit by art deco lamps. 

As they stepped inside, they faced a small bookings desk, behind which stood a very tidy, professional looking woman. “Good evening,” she greeted, her voice flowing in a very attractive but indistinct European accent. “Welcome to The Wolseley, sir, madam. How are we today?”

“Good evening! Wonderful, thank you,” Ross greeted, ever extremely polite. “Reservation under Poldark.”

The woman took all of one second to glance at her booking sheet. “Right this way, Mr. Poldark. May I take your jacket?”

Demelza was quite baffled to then be wrestled for her jacket, as she had never had restaurant staff offer such a thing before. Ross looked over his shoulder and gave her a look that showed he knew just how surprised she’d be. Another impeccably dressed member of staff, a blond waiter, then led them toward a back secluded table at the back of the booths, lit with a delightfully vintage candle in the art deco lantern. The waiter went to pull out her chair, only for Ross to beat him to it. Demelza felt her face burn. 

The waiter, with a Italian accent, reeled off the specials in record time, leaving Demelza completely lost as she recognised all of one word as food. Picking up the beautiful black and white menu, Demelza felt herself flounder at the sight of a paper filled with French language, feeling silently ashamed of her own uncultured ignorance. 

“Okay?” Ross prompted, awaking her to the present. He was sat across from her, lit incredibly romantically by the soft light of the candle between them. Dressed in black, the brown his eyes seemed warmer, a combination of whisky and chocolate; the slight flecks of green forever intriguing to her. The one downside to a turtle neck was that she couldn’t bask in the temptation of the dark hair that usually peeped at the collar of his shirts. 

“Yes.” She smiled at him, hoping to reassure him. He tilted his head, evidently a little skeptical until she sighed and reluctantly sagged a little. “Alright! I have no idea what this menu says,” she confessed, attempting to swallow down her blush. 

She expected him to laugh, but he didn’t. Instead, he apologised. “It’s not all as pretentious as it looks,” he reassured. “Their burger and chips is mind-blowing, for example.”

Demelza smiled, grateful to him for his attempts to make her comfortable. “Did y’really bring me to the likes of…well, the most fancy establishment I have ever seen…for a _burger?”_

Ross was now leaning forward on his elbows, looking at her with increased intensity. “I’d take you anywhere, Demelza, if it made you as happy your eyes tell me you are tonight.” 

Barking a laugh, she shook her head at him dismissively. “Y’do talk _shit_ , Ross!” Around them, the low chatter in the room was enchanting and left them both speaking in an intimate, low tones. 

Ross grinned and bit his lower lop, his eyes suddenly alight with something mischievous. “Oh, sweet Demelza! Ever the delicate tongue!” When she laughed and scanned the menu again, his gaze hadn’t moved from her face. Flexing her neck, Demelza looked up to the high arches in the ceiling, changing the subject. “What _is_ this place?”

“It was an old Wolseley Motors car showroom in the 1920’s,” he rumbled informatively. “It’s really something, isn’t it?”

Nodding, Demelza realised she had to look back at him, no longer able to excuse looking away from him. His gaze was so heavy on her body, leaving her unable to focus on even conversation. Their setting didn’t help matters, being romantic as it was. 

The waiter reappeared and took their order; Ross deciding on white wine while they both ordered burgers. As the waiter accidentally knocked a bottle of water and began apologising profusely in Italian, Demelza watched in fascination – with an undeniable quiver deep in her stomach – as Ross began to reply in the man’s native tongue. 

“You speak _Italian?”_ she dismayed, shaking her head. “What else can you do that you’re hiding from me? Walk on water?!”

“I quite fancied myself a botanist once,” he replied humorously, causing them both to chuckle at his joke. They fell into comfortable quiet as the waiter reappeared with their wine, which Demelza took a grateful gulp of the moment she could. 

“Someone’s thirsty,” he grinned. 

“You would be too if you had _you_ staring at you like some brain puzzle!” she challenged, subtly wiping her lip to check for smudged lipstick. Ross was suddenly shaking his head. “What?”

“You have no idea…” he hummed incredulously, as though talking to himself. Reaching across the table, he took a hold of her hand, smoothing his thumb over her palm. Despite how such a display of affection made her blush, she gripped his hand with as much enthusiasm as she could manage, fascinated by the rough texture of his skin. His fingers danced up and down the tips of her fingers.

“Calluses,” he observed softly as he looked down at her hand. “I don’t know how I didn’t notice these before.”

“Guitar does that,” she explained, gently. “I’ve never much in the way of _ladies_ hands.”

“ _Ladies_ hands have no story!” he scoffed. “You taught yourself, didn’t you? Guitar?” 

She nodded mutely, not wanting to dwell on the days when she first managed to learn. Her expression was momentarily bleak; she knew her usual jovial mask had slipped by the look of sudden intrigue and concern on Ross’. 

“Kind of,” she elaborated, reluctantly. “My school music teacher…must have seen how miserable I was. She…took pity on me and took me into the music store; told me I could borrow anything I wanted. I’d always thought of guitars a beautifully inclusive instrument; I just… _love_ the feeling of the vibrations of the strings, y’know? How it can bring people together…” He picked up her hand as she spoke, pressing a delicate kiss to her palm. 

“Why were you miserable?” he murmured. She should have predicted this question and it left her dismayed. Shifting uncomfortably, she tried desperately to decide how to evade it. 

“What kid in senior school _isn’t_?”

They both knew this was an evasive answer. Ross eyes were more concrete than ever, but his fingers were frightfully gentle, triggering shivers up her arm. 

“Very true,” Ross replied, humouring her. “I was locked away in an all-boys boarding school.”

Demelza rose her eyes from their hands back to his face, intrigued now that the conversation was no longer directed at her. “And you were miserable?”

He let out the air in his lungs through his nose, pausing to think. “In a way.” The corners of his lips curled. “Though, I think most of the boys disliked it for a very different reason than I did.”

“Let me guess,” she giggled, “The no girls part?”

With a smirk, Ross squeezed her hand and pretended to be shocked. “How did you guess?!”

Craving to touch him, she threw caution to the wind and smoothed her hand over the back of his, taking in the texture of his strength; flexing tendons, protruding veins until she reached the dark, downy hair at his wrist. With a smirk to match his, she draw patterns over his skin. “Just lucky, I suppose.” His skin was so _warm_ , all she wanted was for him to be closer rather than separated from her by a dining table. “And you were miserable because…” She dragged out her sentence to trigger him to answer, only to suddenly be hit with the answer before he could even speak, her conscience punching her square in the gut. Inwardly, she betrayed herself and instantly squeezed him in apology. “Of course – your mum – _Judas!_ – _Sorry._ ”

Ross was shushing her before she had even finished speaking, shaking his head while wearing a kind, reassuring smile. “It’s alright, love,” he whispered, pressing another kiss to her hand, more solid this time. His eyes were sad, and perhaps it was the low light, but the melancholy was muted this time, his smile seemed to be weighted in earnest. “You’re right,” he continued, clearing his throat. For the first time, he couldn’t look up, his eyes locked on their hands in the centre of the table. His shoulders were low, as though burdened with the weight of the world, though Demelza knew well that the weight of a lost parent as a child felt much the same. “She was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukaemia,” he informed, the words coming slow as though painful to him. “I was four.” 

His truth felt like a sucker punch to her. She had known for a long while now that Ross’ mother had died, just as her own had, but she would never have dared to ask for further information that was not offered. She knew first hand what acid in the wound bringing such a topic up could be. 

“It was…aggressive,” he continued, “but she fought it hard for years. She started her foundation, began fundraising… and eventually even getting better. It gave her something to focus on, I suppose. _‘I’ve got too much left to do!’_ , she’d say,” he reminisced with a laugh to himself, his eyes far away, evidently seeing her before him in Demelza’s place. “She was stable, _finally_ , and for a while they thought _maybe_ …” he trailed. 

Demelza squeezed his hand hard before inching her chair as close to the table as she could to grasp his other. She felt his agony in every second of his silence. 

“The hope didn’t last long. She didn’t make it to her thirty-fifth birthday. My father was never the same, after. He sent me away to school, which Mum had never allowed him to do when she was…” He took a breath before managing the word, “… _alive._ I hated him for it, but strangely enough it was also what I needed. At Harrow I made actual friends beyond the _three_ I had at home; I learned life lessons, how to hold my liquor,” he joked, winking at her and she wrinkled her nose. They both knew, after all, he still wasn’t so good at that. “I made some mistakes with some drugs; I joined the Army cadets to take up any free time I had left so I wouldn’t have to go home and… just like that, I woke up one day and I’d been there eight years.” 

Now, she most certainly wished there wasn’t a table between them, watching to pull him into her chest and cuddle him like a mother-hen. She craved now to cocoon him into warmth and kindness that would banish him from being touched by such cruel realities ever again. 

“Oh, Ross,” she sighed, reaching over to touch him downturned face. He was shaking his head again, evidently not comfortable when the shoe was on the other foot and conversation centred around _him_ for a change. The softness of his stubble was continually surprising. “I’m _that_ sorry.”

Unusually, he nodded and didn’t actively dismiss her sympathy, taking her hand from his face and kissing the back of it. “What about _you_?” he challenged gently, triggering a roll of her eyes. She should have known he would turn the conversation back to her. 

“Me?” she echoed coyly, reaching to take another sip of wine with her free hand. 

“You lost your mother, too.” 

Demelza rolled the alcohol around her mouth, drawing out the seconds she had before she had to reply. It wasn’t the death of her mother that haunted her, since she had been tiny and unaware at that age; no, it was the consequences that followed he subsequently. 

“She died when I was little, five or so,” Demelza explained, methodically. “I don’t remember her much, aside from her… _smell._ She always smelt like fresh, Cornish flowers…”  Ross watched as a reminiscent smile curled at her lips. “She was always singing, too.”

“So that’s where you get it from,” Ross observed aloud, moving to sip his wine. “She must have been a lovely woman.” Demelza’s creased brow indicated her confusion. “I mean, look what a cracking young woman she created!”

 _“Cracking?”_ Demelza couldn’t contain herself suddenly; the laughter most likely down to nerves. “Oh, Ross, you are funny!”

“Funny?!” He seemed to find this description both a surprise and an insult as his eyebrows shot towards the ceiling. “Funny _how_?!”

“Y’just say things no other man would think to say – that _I’d_ rightly never think to say!” she retorted, good-naturedly, licking her lips as the waiter brought them the more deliciously looking miniature baguettes bread sticks, complete with immaculately moulded butter on a shining silver dish. Her stomach made a sudden gargantuan audible rumble at the sight, causing them both to laugh. She was practically bouncing in her seat with excitement as the sight of the bread, still warm from baking and blanketed in flour. When she looked up, her mouth full, Ross hadn’t moved. He was gazing with a crooked smile, his eyes yet again laughing at her. 

“I’m so sorry. I should have realised you’d be so ravenous!” 

Shaking her head, she inwardly berated herself to remember her manners. “Oh, d’not worry. I needed that nap more.”

Tearing into the bread, Ross nodded earnestly. “And I. London always makes me so tired, all the bloody _commuting_.”

Demelza watched his movements, surprised to see him consuming carbohydrates. 

“What?” He paused until she shook her head to urge him on. 

“How d’you eat bread and look so… _like you do_?” she asked, clumsy and bashful, feeling heat rise up her exposed neck. “I could never.”  

Ross’ eyes glinted in the typical way of a man whose ego had been fanned into a generous flame as he replied. “Everything in moderation.”

“Even drugs?” she jibed playfully, intrigued as to what his response would be. 

Looking down, he bit him lip and shook his head. “Not so much in my old age.”

That made them both crack up, as he was hardly _old_ … and yet he _did_ give off the aura of someone much greater in years than a man of twenty four. 

“And sex?” She watched him swallow his mouthful of bread hard, taken by surprise, meeting his eye because she forces herself to do so. “Is it best to moderate there too?”

She wasn’t sure why she asked it, but her tone was nonchalant, as though she wasn’t in fact asking a question at all, but attempting to make a point. Perhaps because it felt as though the two of them had been skirting around the subject all evening long, neither wanting to acknowledge the simmering tension between them for fear of pushing the other too far.  

Or, more specifically, pushing _her_ too far.  

Despite the urge she felt to fidget, to _run_ , she sat still, breathing suddenly shallow, and watched every micro detail of him move as he cleared his mouth to answer. 

“Once upon a time, I’d have said not,” he replied with equal careful nonchalance, though his eyes were as loud and talkative as ever. “But these days, I see no point in quantity for quantity’s sake…” His own words seemed to make him smirk at himself, as though his thoughts amused him. “Perhaps I really _am_ getting old.”

“Or p’raps your trust was just fractured.” 

She said so mostly out of reference to his evident upset with Elizabeth and Francis, but realised by the surprise in his face that such a statement also reflected her own sense of disconnect. Her life had continually taught her that trust was only ever temporary; an illusion people told themselves existed in order to feel better about the fact that humans everywhere were all in fact flawed and baggage-ridden; _even_ those whom we once thought to be perfection.

Everyone was imperfect. Everyone was someone else inside their head from the person that they allowed themselves to be in front of others. 

Everyone lied – _most specifically, drunken, bitter fathers,_ she thought. 

“Perhaps it was,” he agreed, softly, pausing as a mouthwatering china plate was placed down in front of them both; chips in a metallic tin and a paper cone while the gourmet burger stood like a model for the ideal burger in all the world, steaming with heat. 

She dug in without pause, rolling her eyes into the back of her head at the deliciousness of every ounce of it; the perfect seasoning of the hand cut chips, the succulent cut of the burger topped with the cool, crisp crunch of leaves and the smooth cream of avocado. For at least a minute, she paid little attention to Ross, far too busy filling her stomach and making noises of appreciation from the back of her throat. Opposite her, Ross was smiling, himself eating almost as eagerly, though not quite. 

“And you?” he continued, once her famished movements had calmed. 

With a nervous pause, Demelza was reminded that their rather intense conversation had not yet seised, but been interrupted.  “ _Me?”_

“Who fractured yours?”

A gasp of surprise escaped her, though it was silent. Suddenly, her interest in her food was minimal, eyes instead of his as he looked up through his lashes, motioning with his fork. The question has been bold and blunt rather than timid, as it would be been should _she_ have asked it. Ross, evidently, cared little for niceties when he could see a deeper truth. 

She must have resembled a deer in headlights because Ross seemed to soften a little, losing the confidence that he had worn on his face a second before. Swallowing, she prepared to speak, knowing she owed him her honesty. 

“Everyone,” she said, attempting to push the word out without any emotion attached. The last thing she wanted was to break down in such a fancy establishment! “So far.”

She busied herself with continuing to eat after that, so didn't notice the shock or deep upset in Ross’ talkative eyes at the thought that she had been so mistreated. Beneath the table however, he tapped her foot with his own to make her look at him once he had settled a smile in place. His eyes, in contrast, were still so loud they could have sent the ceiling of chandeliers above them crashing down. “I hope you know I intend to put a stop to that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Wolseley is real and is my favourite place in London, so I couldn't resist.... and they really do do the best chips in the world.


	15. Beckoning (Part III)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ross and Demelza hit unwelcome obstacles on their first date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters belong to Winston / the BBC / Mammoth, duh. I'm just borrowing them for the 90's. 
> 
> This chapter is heavy - just a warning. Demelza has quite a lot of stuff to get through and she's only just becoming aware of it. I hope you can see the necessity of getting her there this way like I do. 
> 
> Please do comment your thoughts here or on Tumblr (I've got the same username) because I do love to discuss these lovely two. 
> 
> xxx
> 
> Trigger warning: Discussions of anxiety, panic attacks

“Ross, slow down!” 

This was where Demelza knew she was in the deep end, watching Ross Poldark stalk from the taxi and into his house with a speed and heaviness that could only ever be caused by a deep, knowing _fury._ She had given up hope of keeping up with his long strides on the pavement, skipping the last few steps up the path to his shining front door before it could slam behind him. Once inside, she meekly followed him into the kitchen and watched as he angrily ripped open the fridge and went for the nearest beer. Tearing it open, he took a long pull, still not looking at her.

“I never realised anyone could get to you,” she murmured, trying to be both observant but also careful in her choice of words. 

“Oh, I have a very short fuse,” he informed tightly, as though the words were hard to get out. “Now you know.”

“Yeah,” she agreed in a deadpan tone, unceremoniously throwing off her heels. “I’m somewhat certain the whole of Piccadilly now knows, Ross!” In truth, she was angry with him. Yes, George Warleggan, his apparent nemesis, ambushed their serene bubble of a date and seemed to push Ross’ buttons… but surely it didn’t warrant making such a _scene?_

If she was completely honest with herself, she was angry that the perfection of their evening, and therefore the simmering tension that had been building between them, had been ruined. It was immature, yes, but his display at the restaurant had become nothing short of immature either. They’d been about to kiss, having moved as close together as possible after their main to share dessert, when a voice had summoned them from their bubble. 

 _“Ross!”_ His voice had seemed uncanny in its nonchalance and seeming politeness. _“What a coincidence! I thought you were locked away in some dingy office these days.”_

That has been strike one, Demelza had noted, as this well spoken stranger had belittled Ross’ honourable day job and seemed to have done so entirely deliberately by the glint in his eye. Beside her though, Ross seemed entirely unaffected at first. He had been holding her hand in his lap as he had moved from opposite to beside her, smiling but speaking with a tone that was _so_ polite that it was also incredibly icy. 

 _“George – Oh, I’m quite content in my charitable day job, I assure you.”_ He seemed as though he was holding in a laugh. _“Yourself? How’s your weekly quota for taking money from hardworking people?”_

Demelza therefore got a read instantly as to where Ross’ utter disgust at this stranger was rooted: his snobbery. George had replied with an equally nonchalant remark before his eyes landed on Demelza… and that was when things began to unravel.

 _“I was sorry to hear about you and Elizabeth… although, some would say it was…unsurprising,”_ George had continued, smoothing down his jacket. 

 _“I’m sure,”_ Ross concurred, dryly, evidently entirely unsurprised by George’s choice of attack. Demelza watched as the fair-haired banker before them narrowed his eyes, evidently reading the shift in Ross’ and attempting to diagnose where to strike next. 

 _“Who is this?”_ George had asked, leaning to shake her hand.

 _“My girlfriend, Demelza Carne,”_ Ross replied, though now he sounded entirely bored, evidently trying to communicate that he was done with this conversation. Demelza had taken his hand reluctantly, fixing a fake smile on her face as she dropped his hand as soon as possible. 

_“Ah, yes, the student waitress.”_

Demelza felt her heart drop to her stomach as his demeaning tone and description, mostly because it spoke to her deepest insecurities. After all, she _knew_ she was classes below Ross’ league; she _knew_ he could obtain the most beautiful and highly accomplished women in the world. However, hearing it from someone so refined made it all the worse. Meanwhile, beside her, she felt Ross stop breathing. 

 _“You’re hardly a person who can pass judgement on what it is to do an honest days work, George,”_ Ross clarified in a hard voice, the tone sounding like a warning. 

 _“No, quite right,”_ George had agreed diplomatically, nodding his head as though the exchange was finally coming to an end. _“Nor can I judge…unsavoury taste in women.”_ However, he didn’t turn away… and suddenly his lips where upturned in a chilling smile. Demelza felt her heart pounding in her ears, hurt and humiliation set fire to her skin and making her itch to run and run all over again. She knew where he was going with this point before the words were even said. _“That’s your domain now, it seems.”_

Before Demelza could respond with her usual fire, intending to cover her hurt and repress it no doubt, Ross had leapt from his seat and had George by the collar. His chair made a screeching cry against the marble floor that roused surrounding diners into murmurs and cry of discontent and surprise. 

 _“Don’t you dare!”_ he spat lowly, his mouth inches from George’s face. _“You’re not fit to even say her name! Don’t push me, George,”_ he threatened. Ross’ voice was suddenly almost entirely emotionless and it left Demelza terrified herself as she was unable to keep from imagining what it would be like to be on the other end of such a cold fury. _“Or it won’t end well for you and we both know it.”_

A fight had narrowly been avoided and Ross had subsequently left the restaurant in a brooding misery, barely even acknowledging her for the entire journey back, his entire frame shaking. Now, as she watched him devour his beer across his mother's kitchen, she could see his breathing was still uneven, as though every thought brought him back to what had gotten him so angry. Slowly though, he moved back toward her cautiously, almost as though he didn’t trust himself. As he passed her, his murmured that he was going to have a cigarette in the garden before disappearing to do so. Momentarily, she dismayed as to what her next course of action should be; should she follow and risk him exploding, or stay behind and risk him closing down on her? In the end, she shook to her core but stumbled to follow him anyway. 

Outside, he had thrown his jacket away and was leaning against the wooden beam of the small veranda, his face tilted toward the sky as he exhaled smoke from his mouth. His eyes were closed as she approached, feeling her nerves prickle as she felt her irritation at his behaviour in the restaurant begin to resurface. _Yes,_ he’d been protecting her and for that, it was somewhat admirable… but mostly it was needless. He _could_ have chosen to be the bigger person and risen above George’s intentional jibes, but he hadn’t… and he had therefore embarrassed the both of them… on what was meant to be their magical first date. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” she managed eventually, attempting to keep her voice level. “In fact, it was _pointless_ to create such a scene – “

“ – He called you _unsavoury!”_ he cried incredulously, as though she didn't understand. “Would you rather I simply sat back and ignored the fact he actively _insulted_ you?”

“Well, frankly, if it would’ve meant we could have carried on our wonderful evenin’ as far as dessert, then _yes,_ I think I would!” 

She knew how it probably sounded to a man with such iron-clad pride; that she was simply being ungrateful and nonsensical, so she knew she was going to have to concede. However, Ross suddenly sighed, his brown eyes warm again as he reckoned her over to stand with him. 

“I’m sorry, Demelza. He just… knows exactly what to say to just… _get_ to me.” Once she was stood directly in front of him, she let him smooth a hand up the side of her face. “I know how much you loved it in there.”

With a deep breath, she watch his final drag billow from his lips in the most sinful manner and it left a quiver up her spine. Reluctantly, she conceded to his apology, smugly smoothing her hands down the front of his chest and basking in the warmth of him seeping through the cotton of his turtle neck. 

Suddenly, his eyes were burning with their usual conversation, awoken by this one simple touch. 

“I _hate_ that he said such things about you!” he ground softly, clenching his eyes shut against the continuous reel of George’s toxic snarks that replayed in his mind. “I’m sorry I ruined dessert.”

Demelza couldn’t help but smile at the sudden gentleness in his voice. Biting her lip, she flexed her fingers against him middle, moving to stand on the tips of her toes to tease him. “Perhaps you can…make it up to me?”

Ross rose his eyebrows in silence, evidently surprised. However, it only took him a brief moment of reprieve before his hands came to hold her face. His whole body emitted such warmth, a symbol of such passion and energy, that Demelza was hardly surprised that even now he still intimidated her. 

“You’re all the dessert I need…” he murmured against the corner of her lips, nipping at the softness of her skin. His voice was dark and sultry with intent, leaving Demelza lithe frame trembling. Her skin was flushed yet again, only now she was pressed against the wooden beam of the veranda with all the air knock out of her lungs. Ross’ kisses came thick and fast, quickly becoming all teeth and tongue, leaving room to breath only when he broke away to sink his face into her neck. 

“ _Shit_ , you smell good,” he whispered against her ear, sucking up the skin at her pulse point. Beneath his hold, Demelza struggled to form a reply. “Practically edible.” Nipping the sensitive skin of beneath her ear, Demelza felt her body leap with desire and shock. With the wooden post digging into her back and Ross’ hard body against her front, she struggled to breathe. She felt his responsive desire against hip, leaving her in her usual state of chronic indecision. 

Was _this_ it? Was this how it was supposed to be? Fresh off a disagreement, when they had only been alone for no more than five hours? Was she supposed to want this without any doubts lingering at all? Was it _normal_ to have these doubts? All the questions seemed to multiply and swell the moment she considered them, leaving her feeling as though It wasn’t that she didn’t _want_ Ross – God knew she did – so, why did she feel so on edge at the haste of this moment?

“Verity leant me some perfume,” she wheezed just before Ross caught her mouth again. As she shuffled forward, Ross’ firm thigh was now pressed between her legs, applying accidental and tantalising pressure, drawing an unintended moan from her throat. “Ross,” she whimpered, feeling her hips bucking of their own will as spikes of pleasure rushed through her system. 

“I love the way you say my name,” he groaned quietly, his hands now in her loose curls as he peppered kisses along her jaw. “Did I ever tell you that?”

She shook her head hurriedly, deciding to try and banish her doubts. Gripping his face, she smoothed her palms over his face, momentarily marvelling over the unusual softness of his shaven cheeks. Gripping the back of his neck, she let her fingers thread into his newly-short curls, attempting to give him back the passion and certainty that he always unceremoniously and unquestioningly gave her. 

“I missed you so much,” she offered softly, taking the opportunity to break for oxygen, secretly hoping to slow things down a little. Unfortunately, Ross appeared determined to fulfil his desires, stealing fiery kiss after kiss, hands and arms everywhere around her. 

“God, me too,” he replied, though his tone was hurried and short, racing simply to kiss her and feel her more. 

Demelza swallowed and frowned into the kiss that came next, suddenly feeling shortchanged and off-kilter at being somewhat ignored. Was it supposed to feel like this? So… _one-sided?_ Wasn’t she supposed to _want_ this? To be taken by a mind-blowingly beautiful man in a whirlwind, passionate _haze?_ Surely she wasn’t supposed to be wading waist deep in anxiety, setting her brain running for her comfort zone, despite the fact that the moment she found it she would surely crave to be back _here_? 

Was this all she was now, a piece of meat in a dress for him to fondle whenever he wanted, not when _she_ wanted?  “Ross…” she wheezed, now out of a lack of air rather than desire, though of course Ross didn’t notice this shift. “I don’t think… I’m just a little…” Part of her screamed for her mind to shut up, that her worrying was needless. _Don’t mess this up,_ it said. _You’ll lose him._

“You’re beautiful,” he reassured automatically, triggering another stab to Demelza’s gut, though this time out of guilt. Was it rational, to feel guilty for wanting him to stop? She knew it wasn’t… but no one ever said love was rational.  

She felt his hand inch south beneath her dress, she felt her hackles rise to the point of panic. She couldn’t tell him no… because she _did_ want this, but similarly, she knew she couldn’t let this continue to accelerate, not like this. Flashbacks of the last time she had felt this way, the night he had been drunk and all over her at the pub, made her skin prickle for all the wrong reasons. This didn’t feel like the Ross she knew; this felt like someone who almost didn't care who he held, as long as that person let him defuse his rage.  She felt trapped in her own anxiety, her mental anguish leaving her unable to think of anything other than running from him, locking the door between them and therefore being able to breathe again. Self-preservation was a human’s prerogative, after all… Well, second to self-destruction.

He was everywhere, but suddenly it was all too much.She had given up herself, little by little, since knowing him… but being _this_ close, she could feel her last guard, her last method of defence, being stripped away…and it suddenly choked her. She could not let him have that last part of her…because once he had it, he had her entirely…and then, if he left, it would _shatter_ her. 

Just like that, she couldn’t breathe, as though sucked in a vacuum while simultaneously being suck punched in the gut. Her breathless gasps became painful croaks and wheezes as she turned her face from him, pushing back on his chest with sudden urgency. Her fingers suddenly tingled as her head began to spin, Ross’ transitioning facial expressions from bewilderment to panic soundtracked only by the thundering race of her heartbeat. 

“Demelza?” he called, gripping her elbows, then her waist as she swayed on her feet, her hands coming to grip her own throat.

She felt panic race through her body as she struggled to draw in any air, her vision becoming blurred as she claws at her own craned neck. The warmth of his large hands usually offered her such solace and comfort, but today, she felt nothing but dread. 

“I can’t _…_ ”

She watched his face morph in terror; she knew how red she must have become, but also how rigid, her whole body straining to desperate draw in the air. It wouldn’t come. Somehow, she was suddenly on the floor, Ross smoothing hands over her face with glassy, frantic eyes. 

“Shit, love, what’s wrong?!” 

“I…can’t…breathe...” She tried to speak, to tell him it all, but nothing would come. Nothing.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “Demelza, I’m so sorry! Oh, Christ! Just breathe – please fucking breathe! _Please!”_  

She could barely heart him over the race of her own pulse; she could see his hand moving hastily to squeeze hers but she was somewhat fascinated by the fact she couldn’t feel it. Frantically, her own hands were scratching at her throat while pulling at her little black dress, feeling sweltered and smothered by its tight structure. 

“Get…it off.” Her ragged voice managed to sound over her breathing, though it sounded like someone had an iron grip around her throat. She didn't recognise that voice.  Now on her knees on the deck, blindly reaching behind her own back, she uselessly fumbled for the garments zip. “Please…”

Instantly, Ross was on his knees with her in the doorway, his hands surprisingly fumbled compared to their usual steady ability. After the loosening of the zip case a slight rush of relief, but to Demelza’s dismay, breath did not come much easier. "I'm... dizzy..." she wheezed, her head now against the patio floor as she attempted to draw in air. Ross felt sick with panic as he had no idea how to help her. If it was  _he_ that had done this, how could he  _help_ her? With a sudden idea, he had leapt over her and stood in the hallway, the landline in his hand, dialling so frantically he seemed to growl at his own hands for their inability. 

“Dwight!”  Ross suddenly yelled, giving his friend no time to digest. “Dwight, please! It’s Demelza! She can’t breathe. What do I do? What do I do?!” If she had been alert, she’d have noticed how his hands, usually so strong and resolute, were shaking where they coiled the wire. Ross went silent, though Demelza somehow knew his eyes ever strayed from her. “But I don’t have a paper bag, Dwight!” he growled, as though his friend were to blame. She would have scolded him for such rudeness, if she could have. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “My hands – okay – I’ll try. Thanks, mate… Will do!”

Next, he was kneeling before her again, but this time, cupping his hands into the shape of a bowl so his palms were in front of her face, cupped over her mouth and nose. Ross had felt clueless when Dwight had told him to create a cup shape ‘with his hands’ for her to breathe into, but now, he understood. His hands created something for her rapid breathing to bounce back from, therefore giving her back the air her lungs were working to hard to draw.

“Breathe deeply, ‘melza, okay?” he instructed as calmly as he could, though they both heard the slight tremor in his voice. He heard her gasps and felt her tears against his fingers as she struggled, her hand coming to grip his to anchor herself to his cocooning hands, her current only air source. 

“Can’t…” he heard her mumble from behind them, attempting to shake her head. “...So... _stupid.”_

“Hey!” he scorned. “None of that.” Looking at her, he could see her eyes as clearly as he always could, but he saw something in them now that he had only ever seen the night they met; desperation and fear… and shame.  Her curls had long since become mussed with the balmy nature of the weather and the jog she had undertaken to keep up with his angry marching from the taxi. He should not have done that, he berated himself, thinking back on it. What an utter twat he could be; so headstrong, so thought _less._ He marched out of their date simply because _he_ couldn't trust _himself_ not to start a fight – Lord knows George would never throw the first punch – only to then _sulk,_ as he always did. This had been Demelza’s first dinner date _ever_ for _fucks sake_ and he’d marched out! Neglected her… and then tried to launch her. 

Looking at her now, he saw how she obviously felt shame that her wall had crumbled, which dismayed him. The only one who should feel shame was him. In his haste, his haste to _know_ her, to touch her…to _have_ her, _have_ this moment, to make it better…he had unearthed something long neglected and buried in her beautiful soul. 

How could he have managed to mess it up so monumentally?

“Yes, you can,” he murmured back, swallowed down his guilt in a strive to put her first. “Just one breath at a time, into my hands. That’s it.” He spoke to her now in the manner one may speak to a wild, feral animal; he did so not only out of hope it would do good, but, not that he liked to admit it, out of fear too.  With each try, he watched her finally begin to breath again, their eyes pinned on one another as her pained heaves finally began to dissipate. With a tiny subtle nod, he slowly lowered his hands for her to breathe without aide, unable to help but smooth a hand over her the curve of her forearm. 

Demelza’s eyes were not as crazed now, as her tortured heaves finally became gasps; deep, fulfilling inhales of heady oxygen. Now, Ross only wished he could get enough of his own, his heart still galloping. 

“I’m sorry.”

Her ragged whisper sounded between them after a long period of her breathing sounds being the only noise. Ross blinked, half sure he had misheard it. Was she… _apologising?_ “I’m so sorry,” she continued, shaking her head as silent tears, left behind from her body’s strain for air, dropped from the curves of her chin and nose. Slowly, she got to her feet as he watched, helpless and unsure of what on earth he should say. How could he make this better? Hadn’t he _caused_ this?

Suddenly, she was gone; locked in the bathroom. Ross followed instinctively, guilt expanding in his chest like a lead balloon. 

“Demelza… Please open the door.” 

He could hear her sobs from metres away, each shredding any defences he had left. 

“Please, love…” Sat on the floor outside the downstairs bathroom, he pressed his head to the cool painted wood. “Please, don’t shut me out.”

“I don’t mean to!” she cried softly. He knew somehow in the way she spoke that she was no longer just talking about the physical door between them. “I d–don’t,” she stammered tearfully, her breathlessness spasming her breathing and breaking up her words as she struggled to dampen her previous hysteria. “I don’t know w–why I do t–this…” The fact she was still struggling to breath enough to stammer made Ross’ chest hurt as he yearned to hold her, to calm her with his warmth. He knew his presence could calm her, when the time was right, because he had done so before. It may have sounded arrogant to say, but he _knew_ the effect he had on women. He had long had practice _and_ had grown up with a force of nature of a mother to boot. 

He had always thought he _knew_ women… but in this moment, he was dwarfed by the sudden realisation that, before the unique, complicated _wonder_ that was Demelza Carne, he knew nothing.    

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, clearing his throat in the hope he might sound certain, rather than terrified. “I’m a shit. I pounced you and I should _know –_ I should _know_ by now that you don’t – _God._ ‘You move, I move’. I should have remembered!“ How could he have been so _careless?_ Nothing he could think to say felt enough. 

“You wouldn’t _need_ to remember if I weren’t so… _hopeless!”_ she despaired weakly, leaving Ross clenching his fists. 

“No, Demelza! No!” He hadn’t intended to sound to scornful, but he did hate to see her being so hard on herself. “You’re not some crutch that I can just physically lean on whenever I’m feeling wounded or some trophy that I can fuck whenever I'm feeling emasculated or cocky or just plain _selfish_. I have a tendency to do that – I’m sure Verity has told you as much – and we’ve both always known it, but… Either way, that doesn’t make it right and I’m so, _so_ sorry. You’re so much better than that.” 

The soft creak of the door answered his prayers, but he dare only slip his hand through at first, covering her own and squeezing tight. He wasn’t quite sure he was ready to see her face, to see all the damage he had unearthed. 

“That’s the t–thing, Ross.” she sniffed. He pictured her lip quiver and her angrily dashing her tears with her fingers. “It’s not _you_.” The last word was almost a sob. “People don’t just have panic attacks because their boyfriend wants to get hot and heavy when they’re not in the mood!”

Ross frowned, lost as to where this left _him_.

“I don’t know.” She answered his unvoiced question, her tone was suddenly desolate, but almost frighteningly devoid of emotion, as though she had long given up hope of knowing. “I’ve always found trusting men… a _challenge_ … and I’ve never really had to trust a man to touch me like you do.” He heard her move and took that as a sign, slowly moving to nudge the door a little further. Now, he caught sight of a few spiralling curls. “I’ve been alone for so long, I learned I couldn’t trust people once they got too close.” All Ross could focus on was the feel of her hands beneath his as he attempted to digest what he heard as she went on. “And I _know,_ I _know_ you’re not like them because otherwise we wouldn’t be here, so I don’t know why I get so… _scared –_ “ 

He could hear her winding herself up again and quickly moved to slip through the door. She was as he imagined, curled up beneath the sink, holding her unfastened dress loosely to her chest as she wiped her face with her fingers, sniffling unceremoniously. At the sight of him, she sagged further, her body seeming to relax at the sight of him now. On his knees, Ross was somewhat baffled by the level of relief he felt as he draw her into his chest. Never did he think he’d feel such a need to cuddle on the tiles of his mother’s downstairs loo… 

“I _hate this,” s_ he whimpered against his cotton turtleneck, a tiny tremor in her frame. With each sob, he felt himself grimace, almost as though her pain was his. 

“Shh,” he hushed against the top of her head, not sure he could take anymore tears. 

“I mean it!” she retorted, her voice suddenly above a whisper, though somehow Ross already knew her anger was with herself. Suddenly, she had withdrawn her face from its heading place against him and grabbed at his shirt in frustration. “I _want_ you, Ross! I do!” Eyes round with sincerity, she snagged her lip between her teeth as it trembled. “But it’s like there’s this… _whole other me_ and she's terrified and I d'know why. I _hate_ her for this.”

“It can be hard to see the good in the world when all it’s ever shown you its worst,” he replied, almost to himself, as he finally began to understand. He thought back on his own life, on Elizabeth’s utterly desolating betrayal and how dark life had seemed in the wake of it. He imagined that for someone who’s never known romance at all, it would be hard to know when it was okay to let go. 

“Exactly,” she admitted, softly with a heavy sniff. “How do you always know what to say?”

Holding her hands as she gripped his shirt, he pulled her to meet his eye, daring to flash a smile. “I had a very forceful mother.”

Thankfully, his humour had the desired effect as she simpered into an irresistible cackle that left him feeling warm inside. She leant up and kissed him then, taking him by surprised. It was a chaste kiss, but its tenderness thawed his previous unease and panic. 

Wiping her tears, she apologised again. “Don’t,” he interrupted, instantly, nudging her nose with his own. He watched her puff up her chest in an attempt to shake off her tears. The steely resolve in her eye left Ross bowled over by her tenacity and ability to bounce back. Suddenly, he wished his mother could have met her. Somehow he knew they would have gotten on like a house on fire. 

He watched as she uncomfortably realised she was dressed in nothing but her underwear, as her dress was now pooled at her waist where she sat, still on the tiled floor of the bathroom. 

“I’m sorry I ruined everything.” she whispered, making him roll his eyes. 

“Demelza Carne, if you apologise again, I think I shall have to spank you,” he warned with cocked eyebrow, leaning to tickled her waist. She shrieked, leaping and nearly hitting her head on the sink. 

“You will _not!”_ she denied, sounding genuinely aghast at the suggestion, which made Ross only grin more. 

“Oh, won’t I?” 

Demelza was suddenly on her feet, tears long gone, holding her dress to her chest. “I’d like to see you try, Poldark.” 

Suddenly, they were engaged in a chase fit for children around the ground floor of the intimate house. Hiding on the opposite side of the kitchen counter, Demelza shrieked as he tried to round it to grab her, rounding it and continuously remaining just or out of his reach. Reaching behind her, she blindly grabbed some of the many teabags from the cupboard, deciding to use them an ammunition, aiming for his head. When one hit his cheek, she burst into cackles incapacitating enough for him to chase around the counter before she could run.  

“You’re _mad_ ,” he huffed affectionately, heaving for breath and bestowing a no doubt _ridiculous_ grin on his features.  

“More sane than you!” she retorted happily, wiggling her eyebrows at him. 

“More sensible, maybe,” he conceded softly, unable to keep from taking her face into his hands to bring her back to him. Her cheeks were hot with exertion, but he was relieved to see there was only a slither of the ghosts that had shown in the whites of her eyes.

“Oh, god, look at me!” Looking down at herself, she giggled, leaving him no choice but to drop his hands. She only just had her dress around herself, as she loosely still held it against her chest. 

“It was a lovely dress,” he offered, nonchalantly. Slowly, he couldn’t hold in his smirk. “But it’s not nearly as lovely as the young woman in it.” He said it, primarily, to watch her flush and fidget under his praise. It may have been arrogant, but he liked to see the way he affected her, since sometimes she could be so bafflingly complicated. 

“Not looking like this she’s not,” she defended with a yawn. “I think I’ll go get changed.”

He let her go as he cleared up the teabags and shut the back door. When he made his way up to the master bedroom, Demelza was dressed in a loose fitting top that fell from one shoulder and a pair of shorts to match; sweet, cotton and soft. Her curls were now up piled on top of her head, showcasing her long, stately neck and a bare, slender shoulder. She sat at the vanity, wiping make up from her face, and for a long moment he could do nothing but stand and watch. 

“Do you enjoy sneakily gawping on women, Ross?” she questioned saucily, her reflection smirking at him. “It seems you do.”

He thought back then to when she had been ill. She’d stripped her top off for a fresh one in front of him and he hadn’t been expecting it. He hadn’t known where to look, which was sort of ludicrous, considering he’d seen it all before. 

He wore a sheepish expression as made his way into the room, smiling at her as he went to find him own loungewear from the chest of drawers. “Not _women,”_ he teased. “Just one woman.”

He could practically hear her roll her eyes as she scoffed at him. Turning to face her, he deliberately pulled his turtle neck over his head, throwing it down beside him. He could feel her watching him as he stripped himself of his suit trousers; he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking.

Behind him, Demelza gazed at his lean body as he stretched to rid himself of his trousers, doing so through the reflection of the mirror so he wouldn’t catch her looking. She loved the olive tone to his skin, she thought, drinking in the sight of the dark hair on his legs but the fact he had never once looked the slightest bit pale in contrast to it. Her face was bare of make up now, leaving her feeling a little self conscious, though never enough to hide behind make up all the time. She busied herself fussing over her own reflection just so she could covertly watch as he then dropped his black briefs unceremoniously, moving to pull in his pyjama bottoms. Her mouth salivated slightly the sight of him naked as it had felt like a century since that lovely haze of a morning at Nampara, or the night after when she’d had to undress him. There was something so captivating about his back, the way the muscles moved so close to the skin, showcasing his strength in the most understated of ways. The round globes of his buttocks made her breathless, as she’s long watched to squeeze them but never had the gumption. Watching him, she suddenly felt such _anger_ toward herself. How could it be that she could sit here at a distance and have such… _want_ for him… only to then dissolve into panic when he wanted her the same way?

“Now who’s gawping?” came Ross’ deep voice behind her, making her jump in her seat. She hadn’t noticed that in her reverie she had stared at his reflection so openly as he dressed, but of course, he had. He smiled a smug smile that almost made her want to slap him… if it hadn’t also been so true. 

“Well, if you must insist gettin’ naked as a babe in front o’me,” she drawled helplessly, trying to remain as nonchalant as possible, looking back at her curls in the mirror. Now just in his cotton pyjamas bottoms, Ross was behind her, his face bathed in the warm light of the vanity lamp, igniting his brown eyes a rich and tantalising whiskey brown. 

“My apologies,” he whispered, never breaking eye contact with her in the mirror as his breath tickled her neck. For a moment, she dare not breathe. “But I believe I must.” Her mouth was suddenly dry as she attempted to swallow; she was now breathless for an entirely different reason. “And what’s more,” he continued, his voice low and soft, almost as though he was trying to lull her to sleep, “I think, somewhere in there, you don’t disapprove all that much.”

He hadn’t touched her, as was their agreement, but somehow it felt as though she was as tightly wound as she could possible be. Was it possible to be at the razor’s edge at just someone’s voice alone? No one had ever told her of such a thing. 

Their eye contact had yet to falter, leaving her feeling warm she dare not move. In her lap, her hands gripped at the cotton of her shorts, which Ross’ gripped the edge of the vanity either side of her. He was so close, she could feel the movement as he breathed, as each inhale brought the down on his chest to tickle her exposed shoulder. When she did finally breathe again, the exhale into the silence between them was shaken, hinting at the sultry effect he was having on her body. Because at the end of the day, that was ultimate problem: her body _wanted_ in a way she was sure no body could ever want unless it had been entirely deprived of affection… but her mind was frightened. She knew the risks of affection – _attachment;_ weakness; _dependance;_ manipulation; _loss_ – and she was ashamed to say she was not sure she possessed the courage to risk herself on such abstract promises again… Not after watching what love did to her mother.

“I don’t,” she finally replied, her voice as tiny as her courage felt. “ _Judas!_ I don’t.” She had intended to utter the words but they came out sounding much more like a imploring groan. She arched her neck away from him a little, her eyes now closed; her body seemed to be inviting him closer of its own accord. Still though, she could only feel his breath. “A body of this age is certainly not designed to be celibate.” The confession was something she had long known but never spoken aloud; it wasn't that she didn’t _need,_ it was just that no need had even been greater than her fears. 

That is, until now. 

She wasn’t sure why she was still speaking, why she _still_ couldn’t give in. Perhaps because she wanted to make sure he understood… Perhaps because she was just buying time. “I don’t know how it got like this…”

“Do you want to know what I think?” he asked, turning his face to look at her directly. It took her a moment to look back; their noses almost touching when she did. “I think you’re very good at putting yourself in chains. You think it’s a better off for everyone if you lock yourself away, but all you’re doing is punishing yourself… But then, I think you know that.”

His honesty is not anything new, but there’s something about the softness of his tone that hits home. He is right, after all. The only person in her way was herself… and she was doing it on purpose. 

“You don’t think you deserve to be happy,” he breathed in realisation, his tone soft but incredulous, suggesting he didn’t agree. Demelza was silent, because would could she say that wouldn’t be a lie? She closed her eyes sagged into him, her forehead now against his cheek. He turned his head to press a long kiss against her hairline. “You don’t think you deserve to feel good?” 

“I don’t suppose I’ve ever given much thought to it,” she confessed. 

Ross is shaking his head when she dares open her eyes, drawing her into his arms in a comforting hug from behind. “It’s okay to be selfish sometimes,” he implores softly. “Other people can look after themselves better than you think. You need to look after _you.”_

Unable to stop herself, Demelza smirked at him, biting her lip and giggling. “Oh, I do, Ross,” she assured saucily. She could tell he had gathered her sexual inference because he closed his eyes and made a noise half way between pleasure and pain, nuzzling his face against her bare shoulder. 

“Oh, I remember, Demelza,” he breathed softly, leaving a flush to her cheeks as she suddenly remembered, too. The morning after his birthday, at Nampara… when he’d caught her touching herself. “But that isn’t quite what I meant,” he continued, withdrawing himself from her with a soft kiss to the back of the neck. Her pulse fluttered at the tiny contact, missing his warmth as he went to lounge against the headboard. 

“What _did_ you mean?”

He takes a long pause. “I don’t know,”  he said. “You just seem to worry too much about other people and not about what makes _you_ happy."

As she moves to join him, her chest feels funny, as though someone had inflated a balloon inside her ribcage, because he wasn’t wrong. As she perched on the bed, she was too embarrassed by his compliment to look at him. Now, she just wanted this topic over… but at the same time, she was learning so much about herself. 

“Easy to do when you had six brothers.” This wasn’t an excuse, she hoped he knew. It was her only reasoning for why she felt so… off kilter all the time, like she always had something to prove. 

“And no mother,” Ross added understandingly, his voice soft and introspective. She turned instantly at his words, shocked that he could finish her line of thought so accurately, which could only mean one thing: he knew. He felt it too. After all, they both lost their mothers. 

Staring down at her hands, Demelza felt the words finally form that she had never known how to say. “I feel like a failure,” she whispered. “I just feel like I’m…struggling to become something…and I don’t even know what it _is_.” 

Behind her, Ross exhaled loudly, sounding both relieved and amused. Suddenly, hands were pulling her backward further onto the bed until she was lying, looking up into his angular features and warm, whiskey eyes. “You’re _Demelza,_ ” he pressed confidently, the soft smile on his lips that was rare to see. The balloon in her chest was gone as air came easily now. “And that’s _more_ than enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The panic attack breathing tactic is real, by the by. A good thing to know. https://www.sheffield.ac.uk/ssid/well-connected/academic-pressures/stressed/managing-exam-anxiety/exam-panic-attacks


End file.
